Section 2 ~ Issue 22bAllison Joseph
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ALLISON JOSEPH                                            

Ode to the Red Dress


F 221orget little black anything.

A woman in a black dress

is mourning, no matter where

she goes in sky-high heels

or sweet sashay. 


A woman in a red dress

is lighting her skin from 

within, sending radiance, 


sleek over a slide of curves.


The red dress dances 

while the black dress sulks

the red dress pops its buttons

while the black dress denies

you its zipper, guarding


everything with a smirk,

finite dismissal of a wave.

Beast of a color, transfer

of heat and power, light

blush to quick flame,


the red dress giggles,

unafraid of wine, sweat,

scandals. Take that red dress

out of your closet 

and put it on your body


where it belongs, 

so your blood can divulge

its secrets. A woman

in a red dress has

no need of secrets,


of shame, of the sour

hurt that could mark 

her face like a bruise, 

a scar. A woman

in a red dress


is a vice, a crevice,

space you beg to occupy,

empty box now full

thermometer's mercury

now burst from slender glass.

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