We Are the Girls
with eating disorders, balanced checkbooks, matching bra and panty sets, with night guards, with sweet-gap smiles, with good cheekbones. We are the girls with pitch-perfect punch lines, diamonds tunneled from free-range mines, atoms that ionize before the guests arrive. We understand the importance of the proper headdress, proper redress, the perfect little black-furred dress. Our tails are prehensile, they hold forks and books and pencils. We are blind to optimism and our own demise. We scurry and hurry and we are known to worry. (But only in the deep dark places of our late-morn nightmares). We are the girls who look great in grey and pink, who know how to trim our whiskers into whispers, who can drink from the flask without remorse. We’ve got our beady eyes on the secret prize while we’re five-fingering last night’s easy squeeze. Our poker faces are blank as aces. We can slip beneath the carving knife. We can keep our tails. We can climb the clock tower. We are the girls of the drains and the ditches, the girls of the belfries and bar rooms, the girls of did you ever see such a thing in your life? See how we run.
Image taken with iPhone at Archee McPhee’s
Words written at JewelBox in the rain with a mocha and a fireplace
Time Taken 6 minutes.
Brain on dark, dangerous, the edge of the knife.
note: All poems for the month of April are memoir poems in the form of lists