by Alyse Bensel

My elbows are unable to bend, shoulders over
rotated. Dislocated. As Barbie’s third-closest friend

I couldn’t cut the rebranding. I compared waists:
mine a little thicker. A tight-lipped smile. Perpetual

-ly holding my breath. Apply too much pressure
and my arms snap right off. But I’m still more popular

than porcelain dolls. Here’s the difference: you can
find me in the trash with my cheeks in one piece,

my jeweled hair, tinged chlorine green,
smudged with gum. A midge fly, a beauty queen.

All I know is that there is a body. I must be moved
to act. My drowning is in hypotheticals. The girl

knows the motive. I know the murder.

______________________________________________________________________

Alyse Bensel is the author of Rare Wondrous Things: A Poetic Biography of Maria Sibylla Merian (Green Writers Press 2020) and three chapbooks. Her work has appeared in AGNI, Alaska Quarterly Review, Gulf Coast, Southern Indiana Review, and West Branch. She serves as Poetry Editor for Cherry Tree and teaches at Brevard College, where she directs the Looking Glass Rock Writers’ Conference.