Black

May 3 2014

The little black dress

a simple set of pearls.

Strappy heels,

flattering her legs, her ass

her silhouette.

The hem

not too sexy, not too prim,

sheer against her skin.

The simple elegance

of the little black dress

is beyond fashion.

Because it’s not a matter

of obsolescence, or status

or the thrill of the new.

And every woman has one

or better had.

I will always remember her

that way,

a magnet for the male gaze

her power over men.

All eyes

under her sway.

The air in the room

electric.

Back to the "colour" series. When I thought about "black", "little black dress" came immediately to mind. Except having written a "little black dress" poem several years ago, I didn't initially think I was entitled to appropriate that topic again. And then I thought, why not? I've often revisited a theme. It's a great chance to see if my writing is improving, stagnant, regressing. And a great chance to finally get it right!

My first impression (I'm writing this blurb after the first draft) is that there's a lot to like about this piece.

It's short, punchy, clever. (And that's something already, because "short" is always a challenge for me!)

It says something important: how I despise fashion, and for exactly the reasons I listed -- the wastefulness of obsolescence; novelty for its own sake; and the competition for status and exclusivity, set paradoxically against the human compulsion to fit in. It's a challenge to say important and even complicated things in a poem without seeming didactic or pretentious, and while keeping it short, distilled, musical. Here, it seems to work in all those ways. The timelessness of the little black dress is the antithesis of fashion.

And I like how the poem becomes personal. I use the first person as much as I can. I have a tendency to intellectualize everything: that is to be analytical, detached, impersonal. The first person forces me to be more intimate, and I think it conveys to the reader a compelling sense of authenticity and immediacy. So the last stanza introduces a bit of mystery, while turning a basically descriptive poem into a story. And tantalizing in the way that the best short stories are: the end not fully resolved, the reader left to her own imagination.

I rarely use highly colloquial language; and even more rarely do I use "bad" words. But I think "ass" works really well here. The rhyme is a gift, of course. It fits the tone of the poem. It's sexy, and a little transgressive. And it certainly gets attention, making it hard for the reader to turn the page.