A mechanical sculpture of a girl, the gears
and pieces whirring each time she tries
to talk, going silent when she tries to dance.
When she says the word ghost her mouth
freezes at the “o”. When she tries to drink, the glass
becomes more fragile instead of more empty.
Put your ear to her wrist and you will hear a leaf
flutter, the pulse of her mechanical capillaries,
and to watch her ride a bicycle is a symphony
of engineering. I want to marry her in a cuckoo clock
instead of a church, bring the ribs of a mechanical
antelope as my dowry. When we make love
on our wedding night, gears will come loose
and fly out in all directions. Will she crawl
across the floor and gather them up, bring them
with a glass of mechanical champagne to bed?
If we have a child, will it look like me, or will
it smile from under two tiny, perfect cogs?
–
Dr. Carmen Fought teaches linguistics at Pitzer College in Claremont, California. She is the author of several books on language and identity, most recently Language and Gender in Children’s Animated Films (2022, Cambridge University Press) which focuses on the representation of gender in Disney and Pixar. Her poems have appeared in Gyroscope Review and in the collection Written Here: The Community of Writers Poetry Review 2021.
© 2023, Dr. Carmen Fought
Halfway Down the Stairs 