The day wore sequins and rhinestones,
shed her cotton dress for a more daring image,
an image reflected in sun-glints rippling
through the surface of Detroit Lake. There is
something violent about rhinestones,
blinding and heavy, weighting cartilage
and bone, but the day wears what she must
when she must, trusts this glittering newness
to carry her through dusk like sequins
sewn across the night sky.
Editor’s Note: Personification inhabits this poem the way a dress wears its girl—sparkling, but with an undercurrent of armor.