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.


by Kim Addonizio