estrie*

*An estrie is a demonic vampire-woman from medieval Jewish folklore who flies with her hair and feeds on the blood of Jewish men.

in a blood-clot
red, heartstopping
dress, she arrives
during morning services,
splashing through
the bone-white pews
of uniformed girls like something
organic through a saline bag.
she accepts a prayer book. holds it
upside down with a giggle.
all the while, you’re watching her
until the white snake
of her gaze
is watching you back,
is wrapping around your throat.
you fall helplessly
into the soft coffin
of her shadow.
the vampire. the estrie.
the estrogenic work of artistry,
escaping essays
with murderous escapades
until the first embers of dawn.
estrie, a strut through the eden
of a teen girl fantasy.
she’s the estuary
like a pink hand veining
through your heart.
the horror of beauty
is how much you surrender to it.
how you’ll always say yes.
you’ll say, yes. yes.
violins, somewhere
as she’s dyeing her hair
ruby-red & its bleeding all over
the bath.
you’re submerged, knee-to-knee.
a crime scene in the space
between your bodies.
night’s skin aglitter with wounds.
the fang of the moon
puncturing the window.
she tells you about her next victim—
some boy with a stupid name. 
and it kills you 
a little inside. 
but you say yes. you say 
yes, yes. because she was always 
bound to find another 
window to leap through. 
she’s the fire that swallows everything. 
the red mouth of an open flame. 
the rabbi hates her. 
wants to break her. 
wants to turn her bloodbath 
into a mikveh, into something 
he can pray over and control. 
crack her unwaveringly tall, red spine 
and throw her onto her paperback. 
he’s read all the books. 
he knows all the tricks. 
and you wonder if she sees it, too. 
the horizon 
closing in all around her. 
but even this doesn’t scare her. 
she’s skipping class to go dancing. 
she’s a cat in the bloodshot sun. 
one detention after another one, 
they bury her deep 
in a grave at the Jewish cemetery. 
they fill her mouth up 
with stones and turn her 
prayer book rightside up. 
the wings of her red velvet hair, 
dyed black and tied back. 
a tired marriage 
to some stupid bachelor. 
now a driveway gargoyle, 
dragging groceries forever to the top 
to rock little Estie, the baby estrie. 
you do your best 
to keep that bright red girl 
she used to be 
alive.