Snapshot

I was a hand grenade of a girl
vacuum packed into a dress

that bound my body
like a bandage staunching a wound.

My arms were cinched in tourniquets
of tulle, my throat choked in a rage

of lace. I’d hacked my hair into chaos,
kept it ragged and short, kept my fists

clenched in the fuselage of my lap. My eyes –
two foxholes. No light escaped. My lips

stretched across my face like a trip wire.
The man with the camera said, you can do better.

Give me a smile. I set my mouth
into the look I’ve kept all these years.

That’s still me in the photo,
waiting to pull the pin.



Reprinted from Inconsolable Objects (YesYes Books, 2024) with the permission of the author.