Mouths Against Air and Glass

REFLECTIONS ON A MELODRAMATIC AESTHETIC

Written by Kora Quinn, Culture Staff Writer Photographed by Annika Ide, Photography Director Modeled by Kate Lawless, Deputy Editor

I:

Matte red mouth Against pressed impressions. It’s all bold confidence When she wears tight Rose skin.

Slick cornsilk curls, Inward she’s tipped. Really can’t miss it: Tears in those raw Olive eyes.

II:

It is true, she was beautiful, And who knew it better than oneself? No one had to tell her What she already believed of herself.

Mouth like a morning frost, Flesh like an amber sea. Nature seemed to love her, But of course, no more than she.

Butterflies took rest on her shoulder, Flowers were braided into her hair. One morning she found her reflection, And of everything else she became unaware.

As she knelt and admired her nose, From behind, her dear friends crept. She bent to lick her own mouth, And that is when they leapt.

Into the lagoon she went, A shriek as shrill as sunrise. They roared and jumped and sighed, “We got you, we did, surprise!”

A laugh she did not offer, For they of all people had betrayed her. Soaking, crying and splashing, she cried, “Look what you’ve done, you traitor!”

The air caught her hair and blew it away, Her eyes became water, her mouth turned uneven. They watched, horrified, and soon came to realize, Mother Earth took back what she once had given.

III:

You know, Mom always Said you were at that age: Rebellion and reactions, All pent up angst and rage. Yet when I looked at you, I witnessed something else. I would turn to Dad and say, “She’s going to be a revolution, If nothing else.”

I don’t think I was wrong, Even standing over your bed. You fought like no other, I still can’t even believe None of it went to your head. My little sister, I always Thought you were so wise. I’ll be right over here for When you open your eyes.

IV:

God! Craving hangs from my mouth. I only put on fur and heels today. Still, the wolf’s halfway down my back. If I turn, they see everything.

So? My head aches from last night. Nothing matters, no one cares. Pool, music, cig, and long sighs. That’s living, I would know it.

Okay. So maybe I’m always lying. Where did I leave those anyway? I’m not happy, I’ll admit it. But only here, on a roof, Half dressed and hungover.