Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2018
I do not think that I can make
my eyes look the way that I used to
No matter what I do
A simple smoky eye means that I am unhappy
I show
The red cape
The stilettos
The cropped trousers
Those wonderful aviators
I thank god each day for my cheekbones and yet still they talk

To be quite honest, I feel nothing
I don’t know why exactly

Those ladies walking the through Bergdorfs silently crying
Those tissues stuffed into Chanel purses
I never would be one of those
They are excessive and boring
So here I am
Alone
I do not understand this country
But I must admit that I have been so very lucky
Do you know how good I look in white?
Not everyone can but I do

When we are with the Europeans
it is I who they want to see
My dresses
My shoulders
My beautiful table settings
They understand me
Not him

You should see the gown that came today
The fabric
The stitching
The detail
You would not believe it
To be honest, really, I am a queen
Sometimes even I cannot believe it

I do wish sometimes
that he would have a little something
Like an accident you know?
Maybe quickly, perhaps slowly
I don’t know
I have to protect my son

I go to the kitchen and think sometimes
when I’m with our chef
I wonder?
Could I?
Do I have the strength?
What would I wear afterwards?

He will die soon and then I will be free.
So today I can smile and wait.
Everything will be fine.
Our chef is French and he understands me.
My intentions.
Susan Adele Wiggins
Written by
Susan Adele Wiggins  F/Los Angeles
(F/Los Angeles)   
79
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems