the sun sets on Avenue C
and the movie starts with a cliché
but the girl in the stained yellow skirt
sits upon the curb, stockings ripped
flowers falling from her hair and
the cars never limiting their speed
40 mph in a 25-mile zone roll the
windows down and their dogs hang
out their heads it is 95 percent humidity
licks her lip to taste the rust and
the camera zooms to get a closer look.

she bites her cuticles fingers
painted gold and she is wondering
how she got here used to take karate
at the place right down the street and
there’s dead skin under her nails panning
to the right a man is running in a tracksuit
middle-aged with white stripes up his
side and she is invisible

the director cuts the sound she
is crying in the dark focus only on her
eyes and they are blue in silence there
is too much contemplation with each new
take she is forced to second guess creative
and the other choices, when she speaks it’s
almost unbelievable tastes of grapes upon
her tongue and shame shows across her
chest like the book it’s a scarlet letter

and as she sits she can remember
all the things she can’t remember
discredited they do not know that the
movie is a picture of her life black and
white because it’s trendy just her face
looks good on camera high cheekbones
she got them from her mother insecurely
she always balanced on one foot

but in the fall there is only a redemption in
the dark the shadow fades in time they say
she is the “next big thing” reminiscent of
Grace Kelly and she will hang a million dollars
from her neck makeup makes her sparkle gives
some color to her ears and she cannot feel a
thing but she is laying on the sidewalk now
curled up à la hermit crab and the shell is
like the womb lighter and brand new tags
still on but no returns it is not the policy
of the store but releasing her imagination
she can’t wait to be reborn.