Cosmopolitan Skylines
There’s something about a shot of Jose Cuervo
that says you’re a city girl now, sophisticated,
lime smile with salt on your tongue. Not
a redneck with a farmer’s tan from,
wouldn’t you know it, farming, long jeans
covering the fire ant bites on your calves.
Your clothes are clean and starched,
fitted to your body,
no illustrated marlin
leaping from the Atlantic
imprinted on threadbare fabric
hanging from your shoulders.
You ran a toothpick under your short nails,
dug out lines of dirt, plucked splinters
and eyebrows alike.
Scrubbed the earth from your knuckles,
the leaves from your hair, the smell of moss
flushed from your skin.
A cigarette in your left hand,
a martini in your right—
even though you hate olives
—so metropolitan. As long
as you don’t let slip out a y’all,
how would anyone know
you’re daydreaming about log cabins
so deep in the woods
the light pollution can’t reach?
All those adolescent years wishing
you’d make it out of the country,
and now all you want
is to return.
This time on your own terms.
This time you won’t be chased
down your street by your neighbors
for being the wrong race, the wrong sexuality,
the wrong kind of not-girl, pick one—
—these lies you tell yourself, painting
over years of terror and a revolver
tucked in your waistband for protection
with a fresh coat of foundation,
concealer, staining your lips
shiny and pink. A city girl
has no need for pocketknives
and snake bite kits. You can be
out here, and no one cares. But god,
if only you could get back to those trees,
clear, cold rivers with muddy banks,
night birds piercing through your walls.
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: These Aren’t My Woods Anymore by Soon Jones - July 17, 2026
- The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: These Aren’t My Woods Anymore by Soon Jones - July 16, 2026
- We Call Upon the Author to Explain—Elizabeth Devlin - July 15, 2026



