Haute Wasp is what she called her. I'm simply

Brown skin on shoes, bitter olives on my tongue.

She's lying in her bath, with bubbles across her breasts,

And riddle books and rubber duckies. She's scared

The warm water will make her heart stop beating.

I've got

A sad room, with thin curtains and nothing

Across my breasts. And still, I'm luckier. She

Is desperate and old, I'm simply desperate. And

We've both got lives to live- even if hers

Is only worth it in the water.

I don't know how her story ends. Elizabeth with

The husband who doesn't love her, the lover

Who killed himself. Elizabeth with the dead sister,

And continually beating heart.

I do know mine.