One climbs up a drain pipe. Another, hands
tucked up under her plastic chin, advertises
Care Bears
through her worn-out, silky sleeve.
Another has not yet learned
to keep her trousers up, or use
a knife and fork.
Another (Greek fisherman’s cap
secure on her curls) might have to go to work.
They shine among shadows. They stand beside spray cans,
elaborated mini-
graffiti having been repeatedly
erased by nameless authorities. TRANS RIGHTS NOW,
one wrote—you can still trace
the ghost of the majuscule—on the fire escape.
The gridded and golden diagonals
of the alleyway’s ladders make
a roof over their heads.
Do they invite us to live at their scale,
to fit under their table and sit
at their feet?
They try so hard to represent
a Paradise, an exposure,
a retreat.
One pulls another close—they sit
on their inch-high metal chairs, leaning side
by side by side—without quite
touching, as if they could hold
their own, unaided, in the chill midair.
One rolls up the hem of her skirt. One plays a kazoo.
One hides behind her opera cape.
Another one recently cancelled their OnlyFans.
Two, together, in knee-high socks, drink tea.
One speaks directly to you. No: directly to me.
Stephanie Burt is a poet, literary critic, and professor with nine published books, including two critical books on poetry and three poetry collections. Her essay collection Close Calls with Nonsense was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. Her other works include We Are Mermaids; Advice from the Lights; The Poem is You: 60 Contemporary American Poems and How to Read Them; The Art of the Sonnet; Something Understood: Essays and Poetry for Helen Vendler; The Forms of Youth: Adolescence and 20th Century Poetry; Parallel Play: Poems; Randall Jarrell on W. H. Auden; and Randall Jarrell and His Age. Her writing has appeared in the New York Times Book Review, the London Review of Books, the Times Literary Supplement, The Believer, and the Boston Review.
To view their work, visit Lavendar Arseny’s linktree.