A Girl Called Lust 

By Rhea Brennan

 

she was born

in the image of her mother

hair dyed with the smoke of a house fire

and the sewn lips of a handmaid

 

she walked

for the first time

and stumbled only once

falling 

at the feet of a well-respected man

he told her his name

before reminding her 

to walk carefully and that

she was in the 

wrong

 

slowly she learned

to stand back up — 

they placed her on stage

she couldn’t sing

so she stood in place

and the men who wouldn’t tell her their names

cheered

or yelled compliments stripped down

of any flattery

before returning home to their wives and daughters

 

when they came back

they called her Lust

and they had their way 

with her

she didn’t 

call them anything

 

they yelled 

“don’t respond

to child”

because they were good men

around children

and they were justified around

sluts

 

she didn’t know what that meant

so they showed her

 

the women pointed to her

when their fathers 

ran and left only faded photographs 

of grim faces 

or their husbands 

lied and handed out promises

as easily as they expected forgiveness 

or their sons

who screamed back

because they were now men

their voice was gasoline and

they wanted to watch it all burn

 

the women used their only power 

and whispered

that the girl was the daughter of the devil

and they watched their shadow swallow her

they turned their backs

from Lust

or Slut

or Witch

depending on who you ask

and painted on smiles with flesh colored concrete

because image is important 

 

they tied her to a cross

when she started picking at her threaded lips

and created another stage

made from firewood

instead of applause 

they called her Kindling

when they dropped a match

and scoffed when she finally screamed

 

Rhea Brennan is a current sophomore in Kinder HSPVA’s Creative Writing Department. She spends her time listening to records, doing any and all forms of art and drinking way too much coffee.