by John Grey
When they called
the girl Sarah,
they didn’t know
they were creating
another Sarah,
a body within
hers waiting for
the name to latch onto,
to slide inside
in a fist of clear light
and grow as the outside grew,
but deadlier, darker.
When she bloomed
into a lissome beauty,
blonde as a captured sun,
the shadowy brunette
was already too large for her cage
and scratched against the pink wall
with a dagger.
And when the man whispered
in a delicate pink ear,
“Sarah, Sarah”,
the hidden one would
leap out and shower
him with the kisses
of her singing blade.