Mary Jo Bang
Girls Dress Well to Stave Off Chaos
Girls Dress Well to Stave Off Chaos
To stop is to cave,
What was it he was looking for? A paradisiacal fruit that would hold itself up
to the light, become—in good time—a diaphanous parakeet green
behind which. What? She'd seen photos
of space that made her skin crawl: droplet and dust suspended
in indigo blue iridescence, each waiting to be acted upon.
She wore black that day and sheer
stockings, calligraphied earrings, touches of blush with blood-red beneath.
She said, Sometimes it's wise not to see, to induce a sight trance
where blindness blanks out the flutter of the taut rope about to break free.
Less can be bettered by less. She knew how
to conceal and how to open a can with a knife. Knew Sweet Finesse
and her cold friend, Necessity, lived but two stops apart
on a tightwired continuum. Just as well-defined lips formed a door
behind which rooms filled with demons who dallied and kissed lascivious—
flung stones, rattled chains, shaved men.