Marie

told them to let us eat, right? How did the papers frame it— queen of depravity? Opaque as a mannequin in her skirts

(though the libelles showed the world: this succubus won’t let us eat), she takes her last walk. Justice waits for the future her head obscures.

She steps on the foot of the man who’ll cleave apart the vocal cords which bade, I hear, to let us eat. She apologizes. That’s not

a sight I can afford. I have nothing. Our streets scream themselves hoarse. We’re undeniable at last, and we say they will let us eat.

Words by Anna Sokolova Visuals by Seavey van Walsum