First published in Allium, a Journal of Poetry & Prose, Summer 2026
Composition in Red and Black
Pammy says
makeup (just) doesn’t make sense (for her)...
but it could (for you) in the right circumstance
(if)
you like that sort of thing.
whose gaze(?) lies at a red lip
dolly eyes
blinky
dewey
or ringed in kohl (like an ancient)
my gaze(?) as I snatch
reflections in sliding
doors that open/close trending
toward sleep forever slumber(?) the rouge, or blush
(as we’re calling it now)
is to convey excitability, fervor, that (inner) heat pulsing
under the surface. either that or a smack, (also reminiscent) of hotness.
I confess (it’s hot) a face in technicolor has a certain bloom
beyond reality.
youth may be implied, (yes) also
artificiality
artifice
art
something that is made (up).
as I croon nearer to the pillow, my face crepes and crevices, reveals
cloisters where the colors (of youth) might sequester, refusing to stay where placed.
does (should)
that mean I stay gray and hermitted (all the time)?
or
like Pammy
I shall go
bare-jowled and washed to the wind (on some days) and
painted with the lick of glamour (when I feel like it) and
the world will make a pact
(not) to say
when the black line of my eye wobbles
and
I have (lipstick on) my teeth.
