jenny macbain-stephens
Cosmetic Technician |
Cheeks soft like a yarn doll
her rabbit fang nails massacre felt scraps on break. She gathers grass not for a nest of hair, (green and brown prairie tones,) But to reflect softly upon the lifespan of green beetles. Imagine each color palette a fairy. The palette fairies hold up well under glass, like salmon on ice, tremble under the matron’s many diamond rings swap game night monikers— Reds the color of bitch fest and skinned knee Who will sacrifice their wings to arthritic knuckles? Not Pansy, but Pernicious. Not Rosebud, but seam splitting thigh high Ricochet Rhododendron. Crisp limbs curl under newfangled hair dos to do wop one more lavender lip or saucer plate eyelid. It’s all a game of woo the fucked up porn-cess. Game on. Her Edward Hopper miasma is Nick Cave, Alice B. Toklas, Condi Rice. |
JENNIFER MACBAIN-STEPHENS is the author of three chapbooks: Every Her Dies (ELJ Publications), Clotheshorse (Finishing Line Press, 2014), and Backyard Poems (Dancing Girl Press, forthcoming 2015). Recent work can be seen / is forthcoming at Toad Suck Review, Red Savina Review, The Poetry Storehouse, Bareknuckle Poet: Journal of Letters, Quail Bell Magazine, Diverse Voices Quarterly, Flapperhouse, and Hobart. For a complete list of publications and other odds and ends visit: http://jennifermacbainstephens.wordpress.com/
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