I am burning up in Hell’s Kitchen,
replete with singed hair, fire trucks
scream bloody blue murder…
I am thinking of a man again.
I don’t do well in solitary confinement
& acts of violence leave me bored these days.
I am wearing fitted leather driving gloves which
wrap so nicely around a certain shape of throat,
and no fingerprints. I am marked.
4:11 on a Sunday as I attempt to be glib.
I have an envelope with instructions in my briefcase.
He called me on the phone late last night.
His voice was the texture of Napoleon brandy.
He used to say that making love to me was celestial.
He didn’t see the killer – for that I tried to hate him.
My skin is slick with sweat, and now I know
how Joan of Arc felt, with rapturous thoughts
of God & redemption
& ignited desire.
Is your life harder or easier than mine?
Isn’t time he put a ring on that hand?
Read the fine print.
The walk in closets, stiletto fantasies…
Beautiful Stepsister to my Cinderella.
See, my fingernails are broken
from all this clawing at dirt for my dollars.
I dreamed, once, of being a lady of leisure,
spa vacations, poolside tan,
a house in the Hamptons.
I wonder if you work harder on your back,
that impeccable manicure digging
into chest & jaw, while he surrounds you
with decay and power.
Is your life harder or easier than mine?
Tell me, Beautiful Stepsister to my Cinderella.
i: she
I am the underage babysitter fathers try to jump on the way home.
Wolf is a subjective term. I am learning about seduction, the tease
without release. It’s all about the hand job.
I got contact lenses & no one could ignore me A N Y M O R E.
Wolf is a subjective term.
I met him downtown
before I was ready for anything serious,
and we drove out to forest
twigs snapping into spine
I felt his teeth gouging my throat
& decided I preferred handsome men to beasts…
& will they shut up if I give in,
& will they wither from my sarcasm,
from my blood spilled on the fireplace hearth?
ii. he
Wolf is an acronym.
I hung out Sunday nights at a bar on the Bowery
& drank the good tequila.
I was a ladies’ man with a chloroform handkerchief.
She had fake ID & schoolgirl clothes
& there was that second where I believed if she stayed
I would not get any older.
Andrea Grant, also known as 'the pin up poet' mixes together poetry, photography, spoken word, audio and performance. Themes that delineate the body of work included are irony, mythology, and the contradictions of modern womanhood. These themes are infused throughout with allegorical humor. Her work thrives on the tension that occupies the proverbial gray areas in her life: between exhibitionism and art, fashion and fetishism, popular culture and canon.
Her website is at www.andreagrant.com. She is currently working on a graphic novel which can be previewed at www.minxcomic.com.