by Babette Cieskowski

I’ll be your doll,
ragged, soiled,
ripped from the box,

Take my heat.
Appraise me.
I’m worth your weight
in bones. Ask—I’ll be

your dog. The living thing
you coil with—feed me.
I’ll be yours. Treat me like

the dying bird tucked
inside your pillowcase. Pretend
my wings were made
for you. Formed
to spread
like wildfire.


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About Babette Cieskowski

Originally from Oahu, Hawaii, Babette Cieskowski has lived in southern Florida, Kitzingen, Germany and Central Texas. She is currently earning an MFA in poetry from Ohio State University. Her poems have been published in Coastlines, The Rectangle, Black Heart Magazine, Arsenic Lobster, and Pittsburgh Poetry Review.

Babette Cieskowski

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