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.

                                                        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
Latest posts by Laura Linart (see all)