is to turn twenty-four with an ass that refuses
to fit squarely into a string bikini. to miss
america is to miss the point
of each perky, each taut muscle
rippling its way across a wheat field. or to miss
the wheat entirely. it is almost an art: paring

a strawberry into symmetrical slices
for a midnight snack in front of the late night
show. amazing how static can fill
the mind, the gut. o america, i, too, have a stash
of sashes, folded up &amp; boxed, their ribbons too thin
now for my frame. you don&rsquo;t have

to tell me: this body is nothing
like yours&mdash;spindly tower
that knows its saunter, knows its shake. you strut
down a lit aisle &amp; miss the brush of grass
against your knees. god, you&rsquo;re as smooth
as they make &lsquo;em&mdash;teeth vaselined

like a slip&rsquo;n slide, you are oil &amp; bronze
&amp; glow. miss america, i, too, know
about thigh gaps. i know what goes missing,
the space between girl and grown.
you miss dining room tables, fruit
of your labor, warmth in your belly, warmth

in your home. i am with you: dried flowers
in my hand, the metallic sky
dulling your tiara. look at this mud
where a meadow used to be.

Raena Shirali

to miss america

The State Para-Military Force Speaks

Raena Shirali

The Day After the Election I Did Not Go Outside

to miss america

The State Para-Military Force Speaks