What do women want!

I want a red dress.

I want it flimsy and cheap,

I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me.

I want it sleeveless and backless, this dress, so no one has to guess what’s underneath.

I want to walk down the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store with all those keys glittering in the window, past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old donuts in their café,

past the Guerra brothers slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly, hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders. 

I want to walk like I’m the only woman on earth and I can have my pick. 

I want that red dress bad.

I want it to confirm your worst fears about me,

to show you how little I care about you or anything except what I want.

When I find it, I’ll pull that garment from its hanger like I’m choosing a body to carry me into this world,

through the birth-cries and the love-cries too, and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin, 

it’ll be the goddamned dress they bury me in.