this is the only power you hold onto

You love a red lip. The dimples are 

extra currency, though you take care to keep 

powder from caking those charmed valleys. 

Mascara: Check. Blush? Oh, yes. 

And a hat is never wrong 

except evenings in the clubs: There 

a deeper ruby and smoldering eye 

will do the trick, with tiny embellishments— 

a ribbon or jewel, perhaps a flower— 

if one is feeling especially flirty or sad. 

 

Until Rosie fired up her rivets, flaunting 

was a male prerogative; now, you and your girls 

have lacquered up and pinned on your tailfeathers, 

fit to sally forth and trample each plopped heart 

quivering at the tips of your patent-leather 

Mary Janes. This is the only power you hold onto, 

ripped from the dreams none of you believe 

are worth the telling. Instead of mumbling, 

why not decorate? Even in dim light 

how you glister, sloe-eyed, your smile in flames. 

 

[Rita Dove {1952- } 'Girls on the Town, 1946', from Playlist for the Apocalypse]