Francesca's Ennui
the rainbow connection Caws
by Jill B. Wilde

Die. Die. DIE.

Such is the mantra of the wiley depressive.

She poured guts on the mantle of what would be her birth mother's grave, and in doing so she became as Marie Therese, fourteen and agony, under me. Under me.

Carmelite nuns are we.

We are two. We are two.

I am mother daughter wife am Francesca Isabella De Los Angeles, De La Cruz under Papa San alone.

Unbridled save for my mother who is Ate Sacia, Ate Sacia!

Katrina Dimataga Villanueva, Marcia the nun, Katrina Marcia Dimataga Villanueva and always Kay Jamora, DILI MA TAGA! Cervantes and Chen rolled in one, into une.

My name is Cheska. I am her daughter. We are twin sirens, cousins both. Morgan and Jennifer of Gwinn have quivering flanks.

Jennifer Stoy and Kate Bolin are mothers and wives, but never, ever daughters.

Angela Lai and Shelia Perez are momsies deserving, ever untoward.

Zoey Schultz and Janine Wostenberg are priestesses of tall chutzpah.

This is my order. These are my women. There's reasons why Mary Borsellino ought not have been mentioned -EVER!- says Hope, and why Alison Leung laughs while Joanne McGrath cries and Carrie weeps with amusement to find herself a selky banshee.


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