by Rachel Deer-Katz
Wannabe Tease Before Her High School ReunionYou wished somewhere there were whales
who wanted to beach themselves for you.
Who lived and died to have the whole oily weight
of their forked tails boiled down to perfume so you
could douse your thin wrists and feel cold,
cleaner than last year’s bones. Do they know
you still try to charm men senseless until
the smell of lilies, wilting, stings their eyes?
Well, you were never really one to leave them
freezing, with your cardigan or your scrimshaw
beads. You always end up going home
alone. There, everything is groomed
slick and chromed as the curved backside
of a spoon. Like your reflection warping.
At home, in their drawers, your spoons
lie against each other like virgins.