Such Small Furniture
And it hurt,
my
fury
made
of
splinters
She never tries.
dynamite ready
to explode
our
dollhouse
the little doors open and close
you need a microscope
to
break
her
(This is an erasure poem. Source text: Andrews, V.C. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Pocket, 1979, pp. 185-188.)
Every Room
I would look into
closed doors
to touch
plants growing
fur
flutter
spider legs
up her arms
dazzle
dust
to
sleep
in
a voice that didn’t sound like me
(This is an erasure poem. Source text: Andrews, V.C. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Pocket, 1979, pp. 335-341.)
Nobody Saw Us
the skeleton tree
sobbed, and we
weren’t safe
hands had reached
and
drifted back
the wind kept blowing
weak as straws
take
fresh air in capsules
swallow the
cold
sea
(This is an erasure poem. Source text: Andrews, V.C. Flowers in the Attic. New York: Pocket, 1979, pp. 173-177.)
Alana Saltz is the editor-in-chief of Blanket Sea, an arts & literary magazine that showcases work by creators living with illness and disability. Her poetry has appeared in Occulum, Five:2:One, Moonchild Magazine, Rust+Moth, and more. You can find out more at alanasaltz.com and follow her on Twitter and Instagram.