The Doubles
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The Doubles Kara van de Graaf In the dressing room at Macy's, I run into all my old bodies. We are reunited when I hear them shuffling in the walls, sense them beneath the dirty carpet. Their hips lurching out of drywall. Their breasts swelling against the concrete floor. I congratulate one on her thin legs. We commiserate about side-boob. We try on dresses from the junior's section and laugh. Relive our proms, our red-haired date who cried the whole night about that other girl. We kiss. Arm-wrestle. Bitch-slap. Wish we were never born. When we part we look at each other longingly, doe-eyed. The way two mirrors, when you put them opposite, reflect each other forever and ever. |
