Interior of a House in the Yoshiwara
My face is drawn a hundred times the same –
the same slant eyes, the brow as light and
insubstantial as a moth, the lips like blood,
a hundred of us, glowing sisterhood,
we scratch and squabble for the same prize.
It is an eternal art, our heart-shaped faces
and the way we make them smile, a thing
so practiced it consumes the soul. My lovers
flash and are gone in an instant like lightening
bugs in the thick of August. I remain.
Margaret Wack has been previously published in Strange Horizons, Liminality, and Twisted Moon, among others. More can be found at margaretwack.com.
The Ekphrastic Review
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