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Volume 3 Issue 1: Origins

Dead Girls Don't Deserve Lungs

Between 1450 and 1750, the European Witch Trials killed roughly 50,000 people, primarily women. 

 

I: Drowning 

guilty until proven dead. 

the men callously 

tie the pinky promise 

of innocence to my feet, 

right finger to left toe 

​

my naked body is contorted 

bound by premonition. 

if I float, they say it’s the work 

of the devil, my body eluded 

of baptism baby secrets 

and entrenched in 

an accursed aura 

​

but my limbs are twisted 

behind my back and my chest 

is heavy, the cavities of air 

in my lungs rise to the surface 

and bubble on the still lake. 

​

they murmur at my writhing. 

take a splintering pole to 

shove my body down, 

back arched, neck up 

​

insides flooded and 

accusations dry. 

my head hits the rocks 

convulsing body stills. 

my last image is you, finally 

satisfied with my innocence. 

I, finally proven dead.

​

II: Burning 

my body is stripped 

kindling 

already heated 

ready to ignite 

friction burn         //frail skin// 

against the wooden ladder

my lungs are dense         //turning tight//

air concaved in 

to make way for 

the bags of gunpowder 

how the explosives 

long to last, make this 

a prolonged pyre         //raw and red//

for the pleasure of 

the town to watch         //blisters erupting over//

my body long after death. 

that is how you like it, isn’t it?         //my naked torso//

to be last person 

to witness my bare body         //popping with the embers//

finally dotted with dark marks 

coughing and choking 

on the dirtied rag         //steaming blood//

forced down my throat 

the waves of blurred smoke         //boiling// 

remind me of mama's 

cooking, pig gutted on a 

spit, roasting for our 

enjoyment, my body 

will be for your enjoyment. 

as it falls limp, 

i ask one final favor of         //my blackened bones//

holy devils         //are mine and mine alone//

let my scorched body 

disintegrate, the softness 

of my ashes unknown.

​

III: Hanging 

little girl hides behind her hands 

dear, i taught you reading and writing 

let you prance around the dirty 

floorboards and washed your dresses 

with boiled water, wrung out and warm, 

please, 

I never would hurt you, baby 

she cannot meet my eyes 

her mother glares 

the crowd grows I gulp 

rope grazes my tender flesh 

shudder to the bone 

once I was desperate for the touch

of someone/thing to hold me 

together; now this harsh embrace 

of callus fibers and I’m falling 

apart 

how cruel it is to be denied the chance 

to fly as I fall, I never got to know 

the sky, 

I might scream as the ground 

gives out, let it ring through this town 

like church bells, I swear 

I know how they sound 

let me.           show you 

​

– choke – 

​

this world doesn’t like 

​

​

– mad girls – 

​

neck cinches 

​

last                                                    blood and oxygen 

 

brain 

​

instead of                   screaming 

​​

​​

will  

​​

smile.

“Something in Doctor Walter Freeman wanted to be able to conquer people and take away who they were."

Doctor says this will make me better, ease my pain 

and sadness, make the days of cleaning and cooking 

go by faster, he says this will not hurt, help me live a 

regular life. he takes little stickers and pastes them over 

my cold body, feel the adhesive shoot needles into my 

frail skin wires attached to my chest, explains the burning 

plastic and rubber means it is working… some kind of 

electricity, static and wild. Doctor takes two ice picks for 

each eye socket and the nurse trembles as the mallet 

leaves her hand onto his ungloved fingers. i insist nothing 

is wrong, quiver as he sets the pointed metal next to me. 

​

Sigrid Hjerten 

was a modernist painter whose psychotic 

nature and random mental issues caused 

her to quit art and led to her divorce. She 

.was lobotomized against her will and killed

​

Doctor, i beg, i am normal – this matted hair 

and unruly body is not beyond hope; my 

fingernails dirty and callous but still able to 

wring the bedsheets; my head, it hurts, but 

the screams are just in my dreams, i swear, 

i am only– you are insane, mrs. 

Doctor points the light at me, tilts my chin back. 

i try to hold still like my husband always screams 

at me to, but my body is thrashing as his looms 

over mine, hold her steady. the curious and 

sinister expression on his face blurs into fog, i 

into black, into nothing. 

​

Genevieve Pilarski 

was sent to a mental hospital after frequent 

disagreements with her parents. She was subjected 

to the lobotomy without her consent, which left her 

.mute and entirely incapable of functioning by herself

​​

Doctor tells me later that he 

cracked my irises like runny 

eggs, shoved the ice pick into 

the eggshell-thin bone over 

my eye. he said it dripped 

onto the floor and i should clean 

it up. i try to bend down, head 

spinning, but my body is too 

frail to mop the operating room 

floor of my own insides. i do not 

know control, do not know myself.

Doctor promises one day i will 

remember who i am, but he does 

not seem sure. I hear him talking 

to a man with dangerously yearning 

yet familiar eyes: I severed the 

connection to the prefrontal cortex 

in the frontal lobes of her brain. I put 

her back together. I fixed her. 

​

Rosemary Kennedy 

was a rebellious teen with the occasional mood swings whose 

father worried about her causing public embarrassment. while 

conscious, Rosemary was told to recite the lord’s prayer as parts 

of her brain were cut until she could no longer respond. Rosemary 

left the operating table with the mental capacity of a toddler and 

.remained in mental asylums until she died

 

Doctor holds up a cracked 

mirror and i see a placid 

girl staring at me. she has 

my eyes, but they are dull, 

black and purple and 

yellow blooming flowers 

over my eyes. flowers are 

pretty. my face is pretty. 

She will not speak out 

anymore, she is docile 

now. compliant. yes, you 

are very welcome, keep 

me updated on her status. 

I predict a full recovery. 

​​

The Women. 

84% of lobotomy patients were women who were deemed feisty, opinionated,

mentally unstable. The procedures were terribly done and Freeman did not

have a medical license. one time, he killed a girl by posing for a picture and 

dropping the orbitoclast in her brain. another time, he operated on and killed

an average,mentally well woman. and many times, for those who survived,

he ruined the rest of their lives.

​

Doctor takes 

my hand to 

lead me out. 

i cannot walk. 

the man, the 

man says i 

pretty look. 

flowers. empty.

socket eyes. 

man. insane.

sharp. black.

fog. eggs. body.

operate. i. 

insane. girl. 

quiet. head. 

lifeless. wires. i

face. empty

man. sharp. frail.

head. body. oh.

Doctor.

Myaan Sonenshein

Myaan Sonenshein is a Creative Writing major at Kinder High School for the Performing and Visual Arts in Houston. She is a spoken word artist and her poetry has previously been published in jGirls Magazine and Trailblazer Review.

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