“What Do Women Want?”

by Kim Addonizio

 

I want a red dress.

I want it flimsy and cheap,

I want it too tight, I want to wear it  

until someone tears it off me.

I want it sleeveless and backless,

this dress, so no one has to guess

what’s underneath. I want to walk down

the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store  

with all those keys glittering in the window,  

past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old  

donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers  

slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,  

hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.  

I want to walk like I’m the only

woman on earth and I can have my pick.  

I want that red dress bad.

I want it to confirm

your worst fears about me,

to show you how little I care about you  

or anything except what

I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment  

from its hanger like I’m choosing a body  

to carry me into this world, through  

the birth-cries and the love-cries too,  

and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,  

it’ll be the goddamned

dress they bury me in.

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