Through a shop window, I watch a man
                                                                  strip a mannequin
                                                                  down to her fiberglass shell.

                                 He coaxes a silk blouse
                                 from her unyielding torso.

                                                 Once,
                                                        I used to see God
                                                                                                    in the way
                                                                       headlights flashed
                                                                                                    along a rain-soaked street.

Now I go God-hungry,
                                                             passing under cathedrals of scaffolding

                                                                                               to venture out

                                                                                                                                into the city’s great alone.

                                                 The moon rises,
                                                 lonely as a bride,

                                                             stealing down
                                                             to the kitchen

                                                                              on her wedding night.

                                                             She halves an Oreo,
                                                             licks out the inside.

                                                             Women get erased all the time.

Laura Linart
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