VIII
PASTORAL WITH KEYS CLENCHED, AS A WEAPON, IN MY FIST
how the fat pink blossoms smell of sex & the season
when girls all cower has passed. onward
in the dimming light, i hold the dog close to my side
with a tether. i am followed by such a train of oohs &
before me the white boys on the fourth floor unfurl
their only emblem, their same-colors-as-acceptable-
pride—reconfiguration of stripes to flatten. what women
should wear & how : what a country should wear
& when. if i wrap myself in flags or if i wrap myself
in many warnings. if i point to the dog at my side
when making eye contact with any of the same
type who has held me against a brick wall. how the fat
squirrels don’t duck when the dog lunges
toward them, & i think without thinking : another species
asking to die. fat pink blossom, sex emblem,
pepper-spraying my way through america—i am
my survival instinct or i am not
my survival instinct. daily i learn : reconfigure the self
as almost-not-killable, almost-not-
fuckable. keep walking & take stock of my
surroundings. only dead girls check their phones.
i am a fat pink sex symbol. i agree with you.
how the fat pink blossoms smell of sex & the season
when girls all cower has passed. onward
in the dimming light, i hold the dog close to my side
with a tether. i am followed by such a train of oohs &
before me the white boys on the fourth floor unfurl
their only emblem, their same-colors-as-acceptable-
pride—reconfiguration of stripes to flatten. what women
should wear & how : what a country should wear
& when. if i wrap myself in flags or if i wrap myself
in many warnings. if i point to the dog at my side
when making eye contact with any of the same
type who has held me against a brick wall. how the fat
squirrels don’t duck when the dog lunges
toward them, & i think without thinking : another species
asking to die. fat pink blossom, sex emblem,
pepper-spraying my way through america—i am
my survival instinct or i am not
my survival instinct. daily i learn : reconfigure the self
as almost-not-killable, almost-not-
fuckable. keep walking & take stock of my
surroundings. only dead girls check their phones.
i am a fat pink sex symbol. i agree with you.
NOTES ON HOW TO BE A REAL WOMAN
keep tally of compliments by drawing lines in the mud
sure most come from strangers & they’re always white
yes to resist clichés yes to resist systematic
yes when they talk & the wind & your skirt
o who deserves really to be in love
there’s all this talk of legitimate features
& you can hardly hold hands with an absence
what then of your wine teeth & kissing white boys
what then of your bodysuit adorned with paisleys
you wear the clothes they call reveal or revelation
& don’t feel like a sign that says look
feel like a cheap comforter at bars when
did all the young girls start wearing frayed shorts
you spend nights blessing leg tattoos & cursing your lineage
you cannot stop staring you are
painfully a drying fountain days like this
any water so far away & you on the concrete
holding your fantasies tight in a ringed fist
there’s power & then there’s the letting go
but the sign on this window reads window
& you’re scratchy from all the tight tight fabric
wish for a salwar & immediately swallow guilt
yes you think it is better to cover one’s face
it is not a joke & also no one would laugh if it were
you’re wearing the face they call authentic
you can hold this like a fantasy
tell yourself you’re real
keep tally of compliments by drawing lines in the mud
sure most come from strangers & they’re always white
yes to resist clichés yes to resist systematic
yes when they talk & the wind & your skirt
o who deserves really to be in love
there’s all this talk of legitimate features
& you can hardly hold hands with an absence
what then of your wine teeth & kissing white boys
what then of your bodysuit adorned with paisleys
you wear the clothes they call reveal or revelation
& don’t feel like a sign that says look
feel like a cheap comforter at bars when
did all the young girls start wearing frayed shorts
you spend nights blessing leg tattoos & cursing your lineage
you cannot stop staring you are
painfully a drying fountain days like this
any water so far away & you on the concrete
holding your fantasies tight in a ringed fist
there’s power & then there’s the letting go
but the sign on this window reads window
& you’re scratchy from all the tight tight fabric
wish for a salwar & immediately swallow guilt
yes you think it is better to cover one’s face
it is not a joke & also no one would laugh if it were
you’re wearing the face they call authentic
you can hold this like a fantasy
tell yourself you’re real