home | musings index | feedback | other journals  a picture of Jatasya by Jessika, February 1998. |
Shells and snails and acorns no longer drove her to distraction
Gossamer hair weave shorn to institutional fashion.
The bard had said her eyes were deep forests worth exploring
Now they're Sunday parking lots, quiet and bleak and boring.
Her parents had tried everything to unstick her hand from her lips
Crowbars and stinky stuff on palms and fingertips.
A surgeon came from Memphis with a solution from the thirties
He spoke of neurologic storms and allayed parental insecurities.
They signed the papers with grim looks to one another
Whatever mistake they might be making, at least she had a brother.
They strapped her to the table, Monster Boy cleaned the drill bit
A crew from Channel 29 flew in just to film it.
Now she's a model citizen at the restaurant washing dishes
Her hands are free to scrub, her mind free from wishes.
Tell her anything, she's a giggle guaranteed
With the dimple above her eyebrow, what else could she need?
Listen to a song made by the Counselors using these words as lyrics.