The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: As She Appears by Shelley Wong

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Invitation with Dirty Hands

as Frida Kahlo

In the blue house, my table examines
her hands & sets them on the floor.

Do the trees remember falling,
their branches snapping one by one

with their attendant flowers? I hear
fruit teething in wooden bowls.

The grave men walk with knives
up their sleeves. But I don’t

blame them. I said yes. Stems refuse
& we break them. Happy skeleton,

dance with me: any part you want to play,
I will welcome you. I take care

of arranging fruit. My small beginnings—
do they lie buried like stones—

Blood in the dirt smears
my gleaming hands. Worms ribbon

into bodies below. Paradise
must have so many leaves

waving us forward in white sun.
Please arrive. Lie with me

among the weeds. I’m queen
for good. The marigolds

are latching into my bloodline.
Their soft throats crowd closer.

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