The Affair of the Necklace
Ruched satin stands
in shapes stiffer than the body.
I hear the corn husks rustling
beneath each shiny dress.
At night the trails of shooting
stars trace silver chains. Take
this ring of mine. Don't worry:
all its diamonds and rubies are paste.
Give it to you know who,
tell him I dreamt
that across the roulette table I looked up and saw
light streaming through the mesh of history. . . .
The crowds are restless and hungry.
Have them know
I would trade these gleaming heaps of strawberries and wine
for a taste of the crusts the peasants call cake.
I would give away all his kisses.
Miranda Gaw writes from Brooklyn. Her poems have appeared in Sybil's Garage, Goblin Fruit, Kaleidotrope, Cabinet des Fees, Sawbuck, and the Swarthmore Review.
