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Summer 2008
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Carissa Green‘s poem in this issue was written based on her experiences working for a branch of a famous department store.
Villanelle on a Foundation Garment
The wires that form the cups of my lace bra
curve like the crayon smiles a child might color.
I don’t face womanhood without some awe.
Undressing, I reveal a cruel scooped flaw:
Two tender pink gouges that mirror
the wires that form the cups of my lace bra—
the consequence of fighting gravity’s jaw—
discomfort that becomes a daily fixture.
I don’t face womanhood without some awe.
You can dress it up with satin and gewgaws
as though they held some invaluable treasure,
the wires that form the cups of my lace bra,
but the work the garment does against the draw
of gravity and time is useful beyond measure.
(I don’t face womanhood without some awe.)
Because sometimes a touch can make tired skin thaw
and focus on the softest fall: The pleasure
of freedom from the wires of my lace bra
as I face the weight of womanhood with joy and awe.