Kaleidoscope Girl

Featured in The Bangalore Review, 2025 Issue

Glitter smeared collar bones, holographic sweat annexing
 a chest tumbling inside a sequin tank top: Smizing,
Shimmering, swooning, swaying in and out.
Whispers slice beneath the bass:

“Not even skin that sparkles should be shown, You Lilith. 
You lady of the night, dancing like no one can see you. 
Who do you think you are?”

But I recognize you. I notice. I see how apple juice drips
from your lips, as you jive, melancholy to some
atrocious, brain dead, pop-culture track. 
Lost inside your head. Faking your best. Acting
like it’s 1969 and bars still have disco balls 
hanging from the ceiling.

I want to ask you where you go, 
but I know you’d never admit it. 
It’s okay, I get it: 
The dance floor is a piranha exhibit. 

We glimmer, unfeeling. We know
why we bite back. Nothing matters much,
at the end of every night, 
we know better than to forget that.