Today’s poem is part of a special launch schedule during National Poetry Month from April 1—30, 2024. I’ll be posting a new poem daily for 30 days, which will be sent out to all subscribers as a summary on April 9, 16, 24, and 30 and otherwise can be viewed for free in the archives here. Thank you for being here!
“AFTER MAISON MARGIELA SPRING 2024 COUTURE, PARIS”
On the nights I want to dance I stumble, grown woman (they say) as baby deer. When this happens enough times you learn to put on a mask so they can’t find a way to make me prey, them with the yellow eyes behind toothy (American) psycho smiles and overfilled compliments, whistles that feel like sirens. Finally, I am all high-gloss and doll-like, nothing to come in between me and my antithetical romance. Not me, every macabre thought I have, not the decay I thought precious. The porcelain is just milk and post-drought rain just sweat, so the spent night sticks to me like latex. Look, a sore thumb bending in a room full of contortionists.
P.S.
I originally wrote this poem thinking I was going to write an entire collection based off of the couture collections in Paris. Life and other plans got in the way but this poem made it out alive. This is the collection.