Aesthetic
She wants to be Cruella, disintegrating
into a glamorous obsession, lost
but only slightly crazed. She hasn’t
been abandoned in the woods
and these aren’t woods but rather
the stock of an overgrown tree farm.
She wears her great-grandmother’s fur stole,
wraps the mink around her throat
and kisses the camera. This young woman
would never hurt a puppy
even to pretend she’s something wild.
Still, she’s hoping to inhabit this feral daylight,
hoping the light will catch her cheek
and call her a thing of beauty.
Most of the time she is merely
a thing among beauty—the moss
green as a wish, the trees holding hands.
The pearls stacked like armor around
her collar bone. The warm luster.
She reminds people of Snow White.
She wonders if she’s that insipid.
She has no taste for hearts,
yet she loves the drama of an evil
queen’s eyeshadow. She wants to be
a villain or she just wants to command
a little respect. In her dreams
she’s being chased, keeps forgetting
to scream. She’s taken to sleeping
with the stole, a companion to caress
when she wakes to the alarm
neither princess nor sorceress,
just late for school.
