Coco Chanel Just Didn’t Get It, Did She?
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The peonies grow larger as they move
Towards death. They grow as blowsy as a whore
Dressed up for some man’s fantasy. They prove
That like Elijah mortal things can soar
To beauty. Blowsiness can be as frilled
And crimped as Coco in her nightmares would
Have hated on her catwalk. Being killed
Has bounties in it. They have understood
That widening their petals as they wilt
Can make them like creations made by John
Galliano. Dying can shine like gilt
On flounced embroidery, more like a dawn.
..They grow more ample like a fan. They spill.
….This operatic beauty is calm thrill.
Dior wedding dress in the Dior and Modern Chinese Artists exhibition, Beijing, 2009