It would appear that I am writing a new sequence.  This is the third Bluebeard poem I have written – the first I posted here earlier this month.  I have an idea of a woman who goes to live in Bluebeard’s house.  She is possibly his house-keeper, though she is maybe his wife.  Perhaps she was his wife/partner first, then became his housekeeper.  So it’s a sequence about a relationship then is it Helen?  Yes, I think it is.  And is it autobiographical?  Well, maybe a bit…Anyways, I haven’t finished the other collection about my childhood yet though that’s still tootling along ok, but these Bluebeard poems keep appearing and it would be rude not to write them down.

It’s a first draft, though it has been mutating throughout the day.  So without further ado, I present….

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In Bluebeard’s Kitchen

Ten years of bones from his table
worried of flesh;
she stored every last one in the pantry
once  she’d scoured them
deliciously white.

Skin Beetles are efficient housewives,
she indulged them
with handfuls of moths
and chicken feathers
to spice up their diet.

Skulls are awkward;
brain-matter whipped like eggs
with a whisk
then flushed down the sink
till the water runs clear.

But she cannot remove
his marrow-deep
tooth-marks
scored like a tally
down the longest bones.