Girl Detective
by Meryl Stratford
She reads
the Bible
and Nancy Drew,
listens to
opera,
and plays with
burgundy glasses
on a silver tray.
In a high cabinet
with a tiny key,
everything
from a to z,
Shakespeare,
In the Light of Myth,
the breasts of goddesses
beneath diaphanous gowns.
She finds
a secret place
within herself,
a furnace full of fire,
dreams of strange men,
of bees and paint.
She is unfolding
like a flower.
Now
there are signs
in the garden.
DO NOT TOUCH.
She goes down to the cellar.
The furnace is open
and she looks at the fire.
Is hell like this?