No one knew her name.
The feeling of the words, that form her label
twist through the flesh plug of a throat: mauled
and plaque-ridden- a slice of flesh to compensate
for her ajar legs, a vice.
To repay her cuts, her bruises-
her red, black and blue. Tattooes spat
on and etched on by sting- by a pain
that rapes her and tells her who she is.
Dresses her in gowns of oleander-
in garments that don't allow her to breathe.