Mr. and Mrs. à la Lorina

I Miss Tutsan Tormentil blame the bellowing below:

Mr. Midwife Pulls the Trigger

Put your ear to my
abdomen. From there you’ll pick
out bloody poems.

Parrot an art, cruel
romantic. With your knock-off
Dylan Thomas voice

and too tight jeans you
say my body back to me
casually. Recite

your lists of this strange
trauma not yours. I hear a
violence and re-wound

you put into fine form
and with a post-modern glint
elegise my rape.


Mrs. Holds-the-Reins

How you pursed your lips,
held your nose high in the air,
smiled with a shark’s sense

of censorship, put
good table manners (elbows
off) before people,

before love – always
obligation was your watch-
word, Victorian

matron version of
Tony Blair circa ninety-
seven. Argentine

exile raised by nuns,
your hauteur was an act of
terror. I lay at

your smartly-shod feet
all my prudery, things the
Man hates and loves in

we. Saddle me up
and fit the muzzle tight, I’ll
live your legacy.


Looking for Lorina

Looking for Lorina.

Good articles on Lorina Bulwer – needlewoman, diarist, and lunatic – over at Frayed: Textiles on the Edge.

And further fascinating/horrific things (trigger warning for sexual assault): A Properly Shaped Female. 

And info on a sampler by Elizabeth Parker.