Pink Vicissitude by Hannah Leamon

Don’t be scared, I have only 

made myself look crueler. 

She doesn’t recognize me— pale wintered

and unhappy and she 

still blonde. Clams 

she strides, whispering 

in his ear. I lie, 

sometimes I am angry. 

Sea foam and bitter, 

not when it comes to you 

do I revel in what I am. 

Anthony, I am what you said, 

what you think of me: 

each step upright I do 

with thoughts of for 

someone else. 

I christen myself different 

under gumwrappers & 

longer bangs. Bathroom sink, 

basement. Figure 

skater glare. I tangle her hair 

around my fingers, say 

this is what I will have.