Molly Montgomery

Poetry, performance, and theatrical work.
Richmond, VA.

“Jake got to you, did he?” she teased.“What do you mean?”“Now you see what I see. Mom says to just let them have their fill and they usually calm down.” She shrugged her shoulders and scratched a fresh bug bite of her own. “It looks like you guys had fun.”“I don’t think we did.”“It’s not that bad. The pinchers go away sometimes. Not the wings, though. Those stick around for a long time, even on the nice ones.”

The Heron and the Frog

“Oh, Mr. Frog,” said the heron, “stay in the brush. If I see you, I fear I will gobble you up.”“Here I am!” said the frog, from the bank of the pond.“Oh, Mr. Frog,” shuddered the heron, “stay low to the ground. If I look upon you, I fear I will gobble you up.”“Here I am!” said the frog, jumping high.“Oh, Mr. Frog!” sighed the heron, “Stay away from me. If you brush against me, I fear I will gobble you up.”“Here I am!” said the frog, hopping close.“Oh, Mr. Frog!” cried the heron, “Keep out of my beak! If you jump inside, I fear I will gobble you up!”“Here I am!” said the frog, getting in.The heron’s tongue lashed at the frog. Tears sprang to his eyes. “Oh, Mr. Frog, why?” he begged, “What have you done? I will gobble you up.”“I know, Mr. Heron,” said the frog, lying still, “And here I am.”The heron whispered, “I don’t deserve you. Why do you stay?”The frog hummed to himself then kissed the inside of the heron’s beak. Then, soft as a prayer --Blue heron, light of the moon. The June bugs’ song. The shadow on the pond at noon. The heavy day and the brittle night. The roll of clouds and the flash of light. With you, I will brave the drying mud, the burning sun, the rising flood.I called to you. I let myself be seen. I stepped in close. I leapt into your mouth. You still don’t harm me as you feared.I'll wrap my arms around your binding claws, enclosed within the prison of your grip. I'll kiss your beak, though sharp against my skin. I'll lay - belly up - upon your waiting tongue. Its strength will pull me deeper down your throat. I'll trace the walls within, where darkness clings, and touch the folds that line your hollow chest. Or better still, I'll rise upon your back and whisper love along your trembling wings.You will know my love within and without. Whether you savour me. Whether you devour me. Whether you eat me at all.“Oh, Mr. Frog,” said the heron.The frog closed his eyes. “Here I am.”The heron’s beak parted. “Here I am.”

Accepted as a submission for Page to Stage IV, 2026, Starr Foster Dance.

Bed Bugs

When Mary was little, her mother said no to bugs. She couldn’t bring bugs in the house, no matter how beautiful their wings were. Once, Mary snuck a cicada skin into the house in her shirt pocket. She was thrilled when her mother didn’t notice it despite Mary’s stiff spine, sweaty hands, and shifty eyes. But when Mary got up to her room to dump out the bug from her dress, all that was left was the dust of the crushed remains. She didn’t cry then, but, years later, when that memory resurfaced she would often find herself shaking and crying until she fell asleep.There was a girl at Mary’s school who had bed bugs. Her dad had brought in a couch from work. The company had thrown it out on the corner after someone saw the creepy crawlies, but her dad took pity on the couch. He promised his wife that the bugs wouldn’t bother them and that the couch was a good, solid couch. The little girl would come to school with the clustered red bumps on her arms, chest, and neck. She never told her mom about the bites, but it was almost certain that her mom knew. She had bed bugs herself. The dad brought them home on a trip. Maybe he’d always had them.From the fourth grade to graduation, the little girl was covered in bug bites. She is married now. Her dad’s friend from work. She’d known him her whole life. They’d always been close.Mary’s best friend Leah had sweet blood, the elders liked to say. Mosquitos were drawn to her like she was a magnet. It was the blood, her mother would sigh. She was just too delicious!The boys, too, loved Leah. She always had to turn down multiple boys before school dances. She tried to avoid dates, but when they wouldn’t leave her alone she’d give it up and go see a movie or something else small. After one date, she came back with mosquito bites all over her neck and thighs. Mary noticed in gym class and asked her about them.“Oh, these?” Leah whispered, “My mom said that we’ll just put some ice on them or something. Maybe if I hadn’t worn such short shorts or stayed outside so long.”Throughout high school, the other girls got swept up in dating and romance. Mary always felt so far behind. It wasn’t until Jacob that Mary finally felt like she was joining her peers in the real world.Jake was a good kid. He had brown hair and dark black eyes. He loved taking Mary to try different restaurants on their dates. After five, Jake asked her to be his girlfriend. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about him yet, but he seemed nice enough already. She figured she could always break up with him. She said yes.Nothing happened right away. They kept going on dates, holding hands and walking around the park. But, his hands started to feel more rough. His eyes would flick around. He was always moving faster and faster away from her. He would smell some food that Mary couldn’t even register and pull her towards it. It wasn’t a big deal. Must be getting comfortable with her. Then, Jake got a car and he wanted to drive Mary everywhere. He took tight corners, weird alleyways, roads that Mary had never seen to get to some basement bar or historic sewer that he wanted to share with her.One night, after another one of their maze-like drives, Jake pulled over and asked Mary to join him in the backseat.“I think it’s time we… we got to know each other a little better,” he chittered.Mary didn’t really know what he meant, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to play 20 questions or something. Why they needed to be pulled over she didn’t know. He smiled at her. It was a new smile. Small. Quick. His black eyes grew wider, unblinking, as he said, “Take off your shirt,” he breathed. It sounded hoarse and loud.Oh. Mary’s stomach dropped. That’s what he meant. Leah had told her about boys wanting to kiss her in their cars. She always said they wanted to bite or that it ended with blood and hurting if you weren’t too careful. “They always want to go so fast and they just push into you without a care. But it’s not too bad. It’s over pretty quickly.”Mary hesitated. Jake reached out and rested his hand on hers. His fingers felt strange. She nodded her head and went to raise her shirt over her head. Jake’s hand caught on hers and he helped her lift off her shirt, dropping it into her lap.She instinctively covered herself when the cold air hit her chest.
Jake’s eyes grew bigger then - impossibly big. They grew and grew until they were just big circles. Chittering and clicking his teeth, he reached his hands towards her. It was so dark Mary couldn’t see but when they touched her, she felt spikes drag into her skin.She looked down and where his hands were was instead a long stick-like thing with a hook at the end. Barbs lined up where his arms used to be. She pulled back, gasping in fear, but the hooks and barbs dragged into her skin, cutting her and securing him into her arms. Mary looked up into Jake’s face to beg him to stop, but that boyish, round face was gone. Instead, was the head of a giant cockroach, twitching and flicking its antennas at her.Where Jacob’s mouth was he pressed to her neck and she tried to push him off of her, but he bit down. Hard. Leah had said after Mary found some particularly nasty bites on her back that, “The pinchers tend to go away after they finish.” She’d made a face with her hands, teasing Mary. Leah knew she’d never even kissed a boy then and Mary thought she was just playing around.What did finish look like? Would she live to see it?Mary kicked Jacob as hard as she could and he finally dislodged, cutting her arms and tearing her neck as he did. She heard a crack and he waved his arms and legs in pain. She grabbed her shirt and threw open the car door, running into the night.“Mary,” she heard, “Come back!” She’d started to like him, but she wouldn’t turn around. She wasn’t sure if it was Jake or the bug calling her, and she didn’t want to find out.
When she finally made it home, she slammed her front door shut and pulled her shirt back on. She was still bleeding and she could already feel the welt forming on her neck.“Where have you been, young lady?” her mother snapped.“Did Jake show you a good time?” her father joked.She looked up and to her horror what she knew as her father’s bright eyes, soft stomach, and light smile was instead a giant aphid, with its tiny head and swaying, green body. Mary wanted to scream, but couldn’t find the sound. He wrapped a long limb around his mother’s waist and whispered in her ear, his antennas playing with her hair. “Come on, don’t you remember when we were young?”Mary ran up to her room and slammed the door, leaving her parents' shouts of concern behind. She grabbed her rosary and tried to start praying, but when she thought of the priest at her church all she could remember of him was a large bleeding body, straight strong teeth, and the head of a tick. She threw the rosary across the room and clung to herself, trying to find sleep.The next day, she eased herself downstairs. She hadn’t slept much that night, but in the day’s light her date with Jacob was hazy in her memory. But the bite marks were still there. She couldn’t remember how they happened. Her father wasn’t at breakfast that morning, so Mary left to catch Leah to walk to school without confirmation of his transformation the night before. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it anyway.Leah immediately commented on Mary’s marks.“Jake got to you, did he?” she teased.“What do you mean?”“Now you see what I see. Mom says to just let them have their fill and they usually calm down.” She shrugged her shoulders and scratched a fresh bug bite of her own. “It looks like you guys had fun.”“I don’t think we did.”“It’s not that bad. The pinchers go away sometimes. Not the wings, though. Those stick around for a long time, even on the nice ones.”At school that day, she couldn’t stop noticing the bug eyes, wings on their backs, the spindly limbs of the boys in her classes. She went to the nurse and called home sick. Her mother couldn’t come to pick her up, though, so she walked home alone.Once she reached her house, she looked up into the tree in their front yard. It was the tree that housed the cicada skin she had snuck in her pocket all those years ago. She saw a lone, final cicada of the summer on its bark.She considered for a moment about plucking the cicada off the tree. She thought about feeling its wings beat against her fingers and the scratchy limbs trying to break free. Tossing the bug to the pavement and crushing it under her shoe. Or, she wondered, maybe putting it in her pocket and keeping it to pin and display. Or maybe even eating it. The crunch of its shell would fill her head the way its song fills summer.Instead, she just took her fingers, pressed them together into the shape of the “okay” sign, and flicked the bug off the tree.It flew up into the air to find a new home. Mary scratched the welt on her neck, closed her eyes, and waited for winter.

"Sexy"

I don't like to think that I have a particularly extensive experience with harassment. I mean, I can probably count on one hand all of the times I've been cat-called. One time was in high school. I was walking to class, and some kid said something like, "I can make you my princess." Or whatever. Another was while I was in my sophomore year. Someone whistled at me as I walked past. I barely even remember it. Another time was pretty recent, while I was studying abroad. Don’t worry; nothing too bad or anything. Standard stuff, you know.A lot of people would respond when I told them I studied abroad in Korea with, “Oh, yeah! You’ve gotta be careful in Seoul. Misogyny and sexual harassment are big issues over there.” My friends have stories upon stories of them getting stared at, followed, cat-called, or even groped on the street, in stores, and on public transport -- just, everywhere. But, how bad can it be, really? Can't believe everything you hear. You know, you can see sketchy behavior anywhere, in any country. I wasn't super worried. Besides, who would look at me and think, “Ah… I'd love to assault that lesbian.” So, I mostly walked with my headphones in to avoid noticing it if it happened - when it did happen. I’ve always been in my own little world anyway so whenever any of that did happen to me, I doubt I would’ve said anything anyway.One weekend, my friends and I went on a trip to this smaller town in the south. We were walking to dinner, and I was in charge of getting us there. Now I'm not generally in charge of the group when it comes to following directions, because I am always lost. I get lost walking to class. I get lost walking home from parties. I got lost almost every day while I was abroad. Plus, I'd never been to this city before so I don't know 1. Why I was in charge 2. What made my friends let me be in charge or 3. How I did it. Because I did a good job, y'all. We got there so much earlier than we expected. Didn't get lost once! I was super focused. Long strides all the way there - hustling. It was probably the one time I didn't get lost in Korea.I was leading the group through the streets, looking as far ahead as possible and trying desperately to stay both alert and distracted when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, this old man turn around and watch us walk past. He was smoking, standing underneath a streetlight with his other adjussi buddies."Ah," I thought, "Never seen a group of foreigners before. Just keep walking. No big deal. Nothing to be nervous about." My heart pounded in my ears as I strode past the group, my friends behind me chatting and having a good time. Great, I thought, we did it! Unscathed! But then I hear -- I’ll never forget it -- the man say, in English, TO ME, "Sexy."And, like, okay. I mean, I guess it was fine? I mean, like, thanks, sir? I’m glad you found my polo shirt arousing. I'm trying to get to dinner.I don’t think I’m sexy. I was just minding my business. So it kinda threw me for a loop when this stranger felt the uncontrollable urge to inform me that he thought I was sexy. Just couldn’t help himself. He had to say something before this long, gay American was lost to the throngs of people and pulsing globalization forever. But, I mean, it’s fine. It was fine. Totally fine.I mean, I could've stopped and laid into him. I mean, really trounced this guy. I can speak with a coastal Korean accent, which would have blown this old man's mind. Not only that, but I've been practicing swearing in Korean for just this situation. Repeating swear words and “Fuck off” in the mirror to psych myself up. Before parties back home, I'd practice turning down drinks or imagine pushing a guy away when he tried to dance with me. I was prepared. You have to be! But I also had to get the squad to dinner, so I just ignored him and kept walking. But it was fine. I’m fine. It’s whatever.We got to the market, as I said, and we had a lot of fun! Sure, that guy was stuck in my head the whole time. Couldn’t quite get the thought of him out of my mind. The way he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, his eyes and how they watched me before he spoke, the way the lights of the street hit him and the road, the sound of people, traffic, and my heartbeat swirling around us. That word cutting through the air. You know, maybe he’ll never leave my head. Maybe he’s just taken up residence. Maybe every time I wear that shirt or those shorts or those shoes or that perfume I’ll remember him.But it’s not just him -- of course it’s not just him. It’s never just one guy who did one thing. It’s the men who sat a little too close to me on the bus. It’s the middle schoolers who ogled me on the train. It’s the guy who tried to pull drunk-little-me to his dorm on this campus. It’s the guy who insisted we keep going even when I made no effort to start on this campus. It's the president, assaulting young girls because he can. It's Picasso throwing young women away when he’s finished using them. It's people telling me that it's my fault because I was drinking or I was wearing clothes or I had long hair. It’s your fault, they say. Why were you so careless? You need to pay more attention. Look what you made me do! You are here to make me feel good. You are here for me. You can't have a problem with it. This is all you're good for!Maybe the way people look at me, approach me, touch me will leave me one day. I know I said I was oblivious, and I am, but how much of it is to cope? I only became oblivious after consciousness became too much to handle.But it’s fine! I’m fine! It was fine! I had fun while I was abroad. I always have fun! Boys are so cute and silly. They don't know any better. It’s fine. I’m totally fine. I mean, I barely even think about it anymore. I'm always so distracted and in my own little world. It's totally okay. Besides, other people have experienced much, much worse than I have. Or maybe they haven't! It's not like you can trust females anyway. It's probably
all a lie. It’s no big deal. Don't worry about it. It’s fine. Fine. Totally fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I promise, I’m totally fine.

Performed at Sewanee Monologues, 2020.

Tea with God

I got a call from G-d, inviting me over for tea. I said I’d rather coffee, but that I’d be there soon.“Do You have chamomile?” I asked.“What you want I will provide. Blessed are those who dine at My table. They may taste the tree of knowledge and-”I stopped It there and said that chamomile is good enough for me. But if It had some cookies then I would like that too.“There will be ginger cookies,” G-d sighed.Arriving in my Sunday best, as that felt appropriate, we sat across from each other at G-d’s favorite spot. It was on Its porch. A little table with matching chairs. The Divine had set the scene with mismatched cups and a plate so full of cookies I thought it bleak.“Walk with Me.”I rolled my eyes.“G-d,” I told It, “G-d,” I said, “For the last time - I’ve told You! - not gonna happen! You know that Enoch and I are not on speaking terms. I do not want to walk with You with someone who won’t apologize. He sucks! Besides, I’m busy down here. But thanks for offering, again. Now,” I said, “What is it?”With that, YHWH shrunk down, down, down from the size of a very grand oak tree to a seed. It peered at me, Its feet swinging. Its tunic twisting. Itching in Its seat.“I was wondering,” G-d said, gnawing at a hang nail, “Why kids?”My eyebrows shot up. “In what way?”The Lord shrugged.“Well,” I thought, as I took a sip from my tea, “It’s just that people want more of them. They’re compelled to live. A child is them, in spirit per se.”“What of you and children?”I smiled quick and broke my cookie in half. “It’s similar. Instead of me, I want more of him.”G-d finished Its tea and more splashed in the cup. “Nothing of my order?”“It’s not about You, I guess.”It slammed into the ceiling, bursting into Its holy form. I shielded my eyes but it was no good. G-d grew and grew until It became the table, the chairs, the tea cups, the sky. It buzzed with rage.“Oh, so that’s it, huh? You disregard my gift of life time and time again. You wish for death. You crave destruction. Nothing is good, nothing is good enough. You don’t want to be here at all! Then a boy comes along, some medicine comes along, some money comes along, and now it’s babies and family and the future! Who do you think made those things? That sertraline? That job? That boyfriend? Everything you have - good and bad - is from Me. I willed you into existence! And you pass Me over for another.”“It’s not like that!”Shrinking back down. Further now. To the size of a pea. “It sounded like that,” It muttered.I finished my cookies and hugged G-d goodbye. We agreed to have tea again sometime, but didn’t say when. It knows It can call, and I will make time if I can.

Sad Girl Named Molly

You know Molly, the girl from next door?She would never do any damn choresIt was always a fightBut we knew it was spiteWhen they found her, twas rodents galore
Sad girl Molly was stuck in her homeShe would pick many scraps and she’d moanOh, she’d cry that she triedBut her friends knew she liedWhen they found her, her body was stone
That poor Molly stopped coming to workThe folks said she turned into a jerkLate at night she would yelpShe would cry out for helpWhen they found her, they said she was overworked

It’s a shame that blue Molly from classHer whole house was so still, in collapseHer brown eyes turned to paleAnd she grew just so frailWhen they found her, her stove leaked out gas

That’s enough of that Molly girl glumAlways crying about how we did “shun”We all knew how she’d sobAll our joy she did robWell, they found her, it’s over, she’s done

Uber to a Funeral

The car I requested arrives early.The driver pulls up and he smiles big,“Molly?” he asks.I slide in,

All black in the back.I get motion sickness when I’m on my phone,Especially on these curving bumpy roads,Especially when I’m writing,So I stare out the window and imagine the Uber driver getting home.

“I had to take someone to a funeral today, honey!“Well I guess it could've been a memorial or a viewing,“But the destination was in big bold lettersFUNERAL HOME.”

I guess a memorial would be the best reason to be going to a funeral home,Or maybe going to work is the best reason.I could pass for a morticianIn my goth business casual.


My new shoes scrape into the sides of my feet,And I can already picture how awkward this is going to be.My stomach twists in knots as the driverTwists us past trees and lamp posts and towering brick walls of different cemeteries.How many cemeteries does a town need?


It is so out of place, being in an UberWaiting to greet my lover’s motherIn the brown coffin I know his grandmother wanted to be whiteWith hoop earrings I know he had to change from the original pearls.


Asleep.


Surely biding her time to burst forward,Eyes glittering,Laughing and pointing,“I got you! I tricked you!”


I wonder what her last meal wasOr the last show she watchedOr if she called out for her sonOr her mother.


Tomorrow, people at a coffee shop will compliment my outfitAnd I will say thank you and bite my tongue.“Thanks, I’m going to a funeral.”Something in me wants them to feel the cloud that walks beside me.


I will take another Uber to the funeral service tomorrow.That driver will go on and on about her last rider who spilled soup in the back -Or maybe just that she had soup in her lap.I will barely listen.


She will ask me where she’s taking me.I will tell her and receive mumbles in response.Then she will ask why I’m not with my lover nowAnd instead paying for my processional.


I will walk up the aisle of the chapel -A building I hadn’t seen the inside
of in over a decade -And tell his mother how I keep waiting on her to wake up.For her to open her eyes and wink at meBefore going back to sleep.


After the ceremony, my lover’s father and I will have our first conversationWhere we will hug and I will say, “I am sorry for your loss”Like my etiquette books tell me to.He will say he’s glad his son has me to be there for him.I will shake my head and say how glad I am to see so many people there for Ira,Because, in truth, I wish I wasn’t there for him.


I wish I never got the chance to be there for him in this way.I wish I’d never had to see him cry.I wish his mother had lived like she’d been destined toLike his grandmother who-


Who waves at death across the street.He promises it’s his turn to call on her,But something always comes upAnd a raincheck must be exchanged.


In truth, I wish I’d met his extended family at our weddingAnd we’d laugh about how really we should’ve met before thisInstead of "I hope we see each other again…“Hopefully, under better circumstances.”Soft small smile -Averted eyes -Light laugh -Pain eking past the cracks.


Today’s Uber driver pulls up to the wrong building and smiles.“Have a great day,” he says.“You too.”I flash a grin before walking next door to the chapel doors.


I imagine his smile dropping and him averting his eyes,Or, more realistically, him back on his phone,Accepting his next ride.

Dedicated to Sonya Houston White and family.