Excavation at Jamestown
At the fringed edge of every map a spigot turning,
a man’s body in the shape of a lion
sharpening his teeth against a margin. No X
to show her remains beneath the pale hearth,
embers still burning, his thin daughter
in the litter of squirrel, dog, and horse bones.
They started with her cheeks, a classic cut,
and did she blush? Shy at first, they nibbled
at the crust, but how quick these jaws learn
plain girls go down as easy as pretty ones.
Nested in a prayer book she seemed willing
but her tongue salty, a sea sick maid with a dank stare.
When she swallowed the last stone did she know how
it would grow, eaten whole except for that unholy belly
where an unchewed seed might stretch
its tendrils and take root?
Marlo Starr is a writer and English PhD student at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia. Her poetry and prose have appeared in or are forthcoming from Threepenny Review, Blue Lyra, The Atlas Review, Monkeybicycle, and elsewhere.