Lounge Area Poem by Rae Armantrout

Stiff stilts of   herself.

Silver bag of   herself
with turquoise gilt
midriff.

(Shake it but
no more will fit.)

Red lipstick line
between the folds — 

precise — 

opposite baby's soft
gurgling.

Have you lost your
passes?

Greeks pictured the afterlife
as an insipid version
of  the world they knew.

But they couldn't
see this.

Two women,
with red mesh crests
atop white hair,

enter the lounge area;

one laughs, "I feel
like we should
say something."