Photograph by Erin Ouslander
Wallflower (For Eva Hesse)
by Jenny O’Grady
I’m swinging from a net on the wall,
limbs swollen, lips lassoed,
cantilevered, waiting
in checkerboard quarters,
for something.
The wall catches and keeps me,
bra clasp stretched by beckoning
finger, or a mole, a molecule,
a hook and eye,
keeps me here.
It’s a wonder I can breathe,
cleft breasts, one
atop the other, twine
separating my lungs,
in this lovely mandolin.
If I inhale,
the wires will cut me to cubes.
If I exhale,
I may disappear.
If anything, you
might acknowledge this:
My dress is beautiful.
