Julie Joosten


In the avalanche of shameful livery assembled from colonial centuries

it is necessary to undress —

I remove my mother’s ermine-trimmed coat, my brother’s sugarloaf hat, my grandmother’s
pomegranate gown with the gold-embroidered sleeves, my father’s suspenders and blue jeans, my
ruched veil, high-tops, and striped wool socks.

To detonate this ode, this pain in baroque fog

I unlace my bodice —


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