No chrome without winter,
no New Year, no white baldachin
strung out above the altar, wood
painted white, carved angels singing
for twelve hours straight
in that choir, no hours, no altar,
no slick white glyphs of blades on ice,
stunts of red fireworks, or corrugated heart
projected bright on the screen, no twin votives
by which you held me and said,
I want to feel this way all of the time. No
all of the time.
There were two Hannahs. There were
eight Amandas. There were three Lindsays,
and each one wanted a nose job.
One got it. One Hannahran 12 miles in the morning,
the Los Angeles dust moving under her steps.
The other studied the brains of zebra finches
that were simultaneously held captiveand falling in love. Two rings of purple
culled Lindsay’s white face,
and for six months all her expressions
she could not express. The other Lindsay said, I support it.