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  • home
  • about
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    • Economies of Effort: 3
    • Economies of Effort: 1
    • shark
    • Moving Through Loneliness
    • THE ALL JOAN SHOW
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    • (home)Body Video Credits
  • photos
  • video
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BLOOD CURSE

THE BIOMYTHOGRAPHY OF AN ANTI-HERO

by Robyn Brooks

 

I 

I cast myself as the hero in this story. My story. I am the hero.
The flawed hero. The fatal hero. The anti-hero. I bear the mark of the
hero. I carved that mark into my own body. I used a Swiss-army knife.
It was an accident. My friend said to me, “What - are you carving
yourself up like a God, now?” It was an accident. 
 

I pondered one day/what it means/to be a god/all
flawless/thunderbolts/moonbeams and/unrequited love/in my reckless
breast 

 

It was an accident. 
 

To be a god means responsibility/and vengeance/a sacrifice/or an
offering 

 

It was an accident. 
 

To twist the knife/and lick the wound/and the gods expose/their
divinity 

 

I always secretly believed that I was the anti-hero. I am an orphan
and a bastard. Questionable maternity and paternity. Sent away and
brought back. 
 

can gods cry? 
 

And, now - the marks. I was born without birthmarks. I belonged to
no one but to everybody. I was claimed and unclaimed. 
 

I feel exposed/in the dark/when your song/comes to me/like a lost dove 
 

I found my Mother on the floor. 
 

and the/ sound of flapping/birds’ wings/in the distance/behind the
mountains/pressing/pressing in 
 

She had been gone for hours. 
 

Discord’s clay cannot hold/the mortal gasp/she mourns for
vengeance/and prays for poison/her will/sheer/naked/designs the face
of malice 
 

I tried to save her. It was too late. 
 

against/a back lit moon/i silent scream/i love you/save myself/like
elephant/bones 

 

I tried my best to save her. 
 

reminding me now/how things can just go/how calculated
melancholy/looks when left unattended/and precise sadness
masquerades/as scattered madness/or bright folded towels all in a row 

 

I am the orphan and the bastard. 
 

caught between/a rock/and a ragged rickshaw 
 

I am the anti-hero.    I bear the mark.    I have a tragic tale. 
 

a red wagon/half filled with/snow/missing/one wheel 
 

I dress in black. I am mourning. O’ Fortuna. The wheel of Fate has
turned. No longer in my favor. 
 

i cross/myself/and kneel/your altar/holds my/prayers 
 

I am an orphan and a bastard.    I belong nowhere. 
 

as smooth as a screw/that has lost its grip/and spins and spins and
spins/stripped 

 

Nowhere belongs to me. 
 

i am thick/and stunted/a tree planted/in your neighbor’s yard 
 

It has all come down to this. Everything that I own is in this
suitcase. Everything of value to me is in this suitcase. My mother
and my Godmother are in this suitcase. Not the photos and memories.
Them. Their urns. Their bones and ashes. I take them with me
everywhere. 
 

disembodied angels/daemons dangling/angling for/recognition 
 

Their bones.    Their ashes. 
 

phantom/a specter hovering/over my daydreams 

 

Bones.    Ashes. 
 

still i feel you/here pulling you in/impossible 
 

Bones. Ashes. 
 

your absence/a siren 
 

Bones. Ashes 
 

screams/screeches/into the void 
 

Bones. Ashes. 
 

sing up the sum/of my birth 
 

Bones.    Ashes 
 

sing up the sum/of my birth 

 

II 

I am the anti-hero. An orphan. A bastard. I am a rape baby.
Questionable paternity. Questionable maternity. I bear the marks. I am
the rightful heir. Rape baby. Bastard. Orphan. Anti-hero. Blood
cursed. 
 

there are some things/done only at night 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

behind curtains/beneath the eyes/beyond the screeching/and wailing/of
the last train 

 

Blood cursed. 
 

patriarchs slip in/between incestuous sheets/swimming in twelve-year-
old/scotch and virgin blood 


 

Blood cursed. I come from a long line of blood cursed women. All
beautiful. All blood cursed. Passed down generationally. The beauty
was the curse. The beauty was their burden. 

 

a honey-tongued/femme fatale/with her eye on the clock/and a
stethoscope/in her hand 

 

Blood cursed. 
 

lost continents/or prom night promises 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

crashing chariots/or wedding waltzes 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

deep dark/thick nights/diluted with/stars and foam 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

broken flowers/plastic wings and/words 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

the sum/of one fading/photograph 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

this moment/just like the ones/spun in legends 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

tucked away/like a talisman 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

she/languishes/in a/sea of lament/against a tawny shore 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

in twilight hours/with hints of/lavender and forever 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

wrapped around/brown backs/and empty spaces 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

vases half-filled/with rose water/and regrets 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

rose petal lips/and thorns 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

a peccadillo/in her garden 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

a penance/for small sins 
 

Blood cursed. 
 

had just one thing/been different 

 

Blood cursed. 

 

cuts closer/to the bone/than marrow 

 

Blood cursed. 

 

a penance/for her sins 

 

Blood cursed. 


 

a star fallen/exposed 


 

Blood cursed. 



 

across the miles/across my dusty breast 




 

Blood cursed. 



 

one last kiss/before the dying fall 



 

Blood cursed. 

About Robyn Brooks

Robyn Brooks, M.F.A., author of the poetry chapbook, "venus in retrograde" (Finishing Line Press, 2015), is a poet, playwright, and director. Her poetry has been published in several journals including Berkeley Poetry Review and Beltway Poetry Quarterly. An Emily Chamberlain Cook Prize in Poetry recipient, Brooks was a Student-Teacher Poet for June Jordan’s Poetry for the People at UC Berkeley. Brooks participated in a playwriting residency from 2007-2013, for Playground, in residence at Berkeley Repertory Theatre. Her plays have been staged at Berkeley Repertory Theatre; Tennessee Women's Theater Project; Theatre of Yugen; Theatre Rhinoceros; and Los Angeles Women's Theater Project. She has directed three of her plays, “I, Hippolyta,” “unscathed,” and “Re-member-ing Sara Baartman.” Brooks is a model in the internationally renowned photo book, Women En Large: Images of Fat Nudes, which is included in the Martin Parr photo book collection, in the permanent collection at Tate Modern, London, UK. 

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