Eloise, Age 24

Eloise Verdante, Curator, Spring 1969

Was it easy?

Dismantling my brick walls,

with your bare hands,
making

compost of cries

buried in the ducts of my eyes?

Did you even have to try?

Or did it come naturally?

The way monkeys are born knowing how to climb a tree,

Is it instinctual 

the ability you have to

move me? 

I wonder.

Who taught you how to touch?

Never mind touch,

taste.

How to melt away my melancholy days and nights,

one long-drawn lick at a time,

'till you reach the center of my
unadulterated mind,

capturing that elusive spoil no one else could find.

And as the tick
of the tocks
of my clocks unwind,

you unwrap a lost soul from a delicate foil
so divine,

Unrefined,
and genuine,

that when all is said and done,
I can hardly believe

it's mine. 

In Eloise's Closet...

Eloise's Closet by thequeenknowsbest featuring a short sleeve dress

*The quote above is a fictionalized account inspired by the people and fashion of a photograph found here.*



Kelly, Age 26

Enjoy this post reprinted from a guest blogger appearance Anh Dinh recently asked me to do --- and be sure to check out tha-darlinh for even more fashion deliciousness from the Berlin-bred student. 

Kelly Mason, Bartender, Fall 1977

   

     Mama, this is all your fault.  You taught me to treat my heart like a vault.  Warned not to let bad boys crack the combination --- or good boys open it for my own validation.  If true love is a such a "jubilation", then why ... doesn't it FEEL like it?       

     Only you can fix this.  Somewhere in that sewing basket of yours, find me a hook to reel in what's scattered of the heart that he shattered.  Truth is Mama I'm all at sea; and some miserable dark tide will soon carry away, all that is here remaining of me.

     So hurry Mama.  'Cause I'm thinking real hard 'bout taking, every last pill for the things that are making, you sick.  My champagne days have all ended --- caviar nights long gone.  Only you can give me a reason to go on.

     Yes, this is all your fault Mama.  Don't you dare blame me.  'Cause you taught me how to give love, make and receive.  But, there was never a lesson on how to deal when he leaves ...

In Kelly's Closet

In Kelly's Closet by thequeenknowsbest featuring clutch bags


*The quote above is a fictionalized account inspired by the people and fashion of a photograph found here.*

Nadiya, Age 27

Nadiya Gibson, Dance Instructor, Spring 2005

There's this bench in the park near the my studio.  And for the third time in a row, when I arrive brown paper bag in tow, someone else ... is sittin' on it. 

The nerve. 

Even a blind man could see how the imprints of my legs, rear and thighs are already engraved into its city-issued planks, like pairs of sockets with deep set eyes. 

The audacity.

Call me rude, but I refuse to comprise.  So when young kids and ole' heads stroll by with weary legs and a lustful eye, I guard my bench like a starving Southern warrior protecting that last piece ... of sweet potato pie. 

The thought!

And it just isn't working --- my mean girl stare.  This guy doesn't even seem to care!  Gesturing and mouthing, "Why don't we share?"

Ha! 

Lunch is almost over now.  Wasted my time on this tall, dark and han ... stranger!  Bright smile, sharp style, and numerous attempts to beguile.  Why don't I just "sit a while?"  He must be crazy!  Only five more minutes?  Well I guess I could ... 

Maybe?

In Nadiya's Closet ...

In Nadiya's Closet ... by thequeenknowsbest featuring high heels

*The quote above is a fictionalized account inspired by the people and fashion of a photograph found here.