Fan letters, Pt. 1

The Girl With the Clockwork Heart
(for Melora Creager)

They come from miles around to see her,
the girl with the clockwork heart.
She walks and she talks and she breathes and says "please,"
but inside she’s just gears and spare parts.

Her old one was broken not so long ago
by a full-lipped narrow-hipped boy.
He felled its walls with a trumpet call
when she thought she had found perfect joy.
Her heart beats, but it’s only a toy.

She does everything that a girl should do
though her tin ticker doesn’t respond.
Yes, she reads and she writes and she’s up late at night
watching TV shows of which she’s fond.
She likes animé flicks and James Bond.

Put your ear to her chest and you’ll hear clicks and whirrs
but they will not change at your touch.
She can’t feel a thing beyond wishes that bring
a spring to her step—but not much.
Just amusement and duty and such.

They come from miles around to see her,
the girl with the clockwork heart.
She smiles and she frowns and she jumps up and down,
but inside she’s stuck gears, rusty parts.

[Spring 2004. This isn't a great poem by any means, but it would be a fine, fine song for Rasputina, the avant-garde goth cellos-with-distortion pedals trio of which Melora Creager is now the sole remaining original member. I've seen them in concert four times: at the third I gave a copy of this poem to the affable drummer.]