THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN I
Her seams hardly show where she was
Put together, the worst under her bodice
Where the heart of a little girl of 8
Was sunk into place. It is from there that
The haunting memory of the sourness
Of wild rhubarb, found only in the High Tatras,
Comes, which in her present state of full
Daughterhood she cannot explain, her brain
The brain of a bluestocking found dead
After a musicale at the Baron's castle.
She says, "Rhubarb," her voice like a violin.
She asks, "Father?" her voice like a trumpet.
And the Baron, the maker, tells her
To find in her husband--the monster nearby--
Her father, her brother, her friend.
There was probably some truth in that.