Annie Przypyszny
To Jean, Best of Luck ---- The Girls The locket’s a mess—no amount of Hagerty’s muck can buff it back to its former wink of gold, and I can’t say I remember her voice. It’s empty. the words engraved on the outside make me laugh. To Jean, Best of Luck. —The Girls I know The Girls. They have bright cheeks and poise, sweater sets and sorority flair, slender ankles, teeth white as tea ware, too much perfume, no shadows in their eyes. The Girls sweep their hips when they walk, aware their skirts embrace them with flattering love. The Girls leave lipstick stains, caressing them off with monogrammed handkerchiefs. The Girls whisper about babies, how many they’ll have, and what they’ll do to get them. The Girls. So dear. I can hear their voices clucking with affection, Best of Luck, Best of Luck!
Fall 2020 / 67