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This poem is taken from PN Review 240, Volume 44 Number 4, March - April 2018.

Real Women Crystal Anderson
Microcosm of bones, ligament networks,
human structures stomping down
laminated lanes in some big city not
in a grisly horror film
reveal but in spotlights to fragile applause.

In these places, human hangers preview not
bodies but styled ideas,
architectural impossibilities,
impractical as the thin
women bearing the weight of this industry.

Models are fleeting, fabric laden oxen;
each woman painted, arranged
by gauche couturiers, those artless experts
who misunderstand the breast’s
geometry, the frequencies of hips, thighs.

Live mannequins, their skin opaque but cobweb-
...


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