13 Ways to Look at a Girl
Claire Apel
I
She tilts her head back, setting sun washing across the planes of her face
She’s riding the bus, listening to music, she’s lonely and tired maybe
The sun is setting and she wants to be home maybe
Her music is loud something with drums…you could love her maybe
II
On her tiptoes at the supermarket, nudging a box of cereal
off the shelf with her fingertips
She’s washed in fluorescent light, stains on her shirt
The workers know her; she’s here all the time
There is only coffee and soy sauce in her basket
She could be sad
III
She’s at the bus stop and she could be waiting
She’s holding an iced coffee, sweating water and melting whipped cream
Her boots are black leather, her skirt soft velvet, she’s trying to look nice
She could be going somewhere–to class to the bookstore home
A bus appears on the horizon and her shoulders relax
She could be stressed
IV
She’s leafing through records in a dusty shop
buffalo springsteen the cure led zeppelin joy division billy joel
the replacements fleetwood mac the cranberries
chicago the hollies the beatles the smiths new order
Percussion, string, guitar, voice, note, pitch
She buys three
She could love the feeling it creates
V
Alone in her kitchen stirring box mac and cheese,
tossing salad, searing chicken and fish
She pops popcorn and eats it with buttery fingers
She makes coffee with cinnamon and spreads soft cheese on bread
Drinks pink wine from a box on the counter
She could be hungry for anything, something
VI
She sleeps maybe sometimes
Under a duvet patterned in bushes and trees
Orange and blue arc sodium lights peeking through the window blinds
Sounds of the city
She dreams in blue tones of streets and alleys maybe
Or the green countryside and a spotted dog
Or another planet where everyone is purple
When she wakes up she doesn’t remember
She could be looking for something
VII
She reads maybe when she has time
She haunts a spot behind the chapel
where the stone steps are weathered and old
They could remind her of something
The end of the world
The edge of the world
She could be lonely
VIII
She washes her clothes in a dusty laundromat
Sunlight falls in chunks through dirty windows
The clean smell of detergent is cloying and heavy
Folds clothes on top of the washer, no creases, no wrinkles
She could like order, organization, control
She could be desperate for it
IX
She sits in a park and watches the light move through the gaps
in the leaves, dappled and soft
She thinks of a song and calls herself sentimental
She shivers when the wind blows because her tights are black and sheer
A leaf presses against her ankle, whispers girl girl girl where are you
She could be cold, inside, out
X
She sits in the back of the movie theater alone
Sees something popular and cries at the end because it made her sad
Eats red licorice with steady precision and grit
Drinks Coke the syrup thick and too sweet on her tongue
She watches the shadows of lovers’ heads tilt together
in the soft glow of the screen
She could be jealous
XI
In class she takes notes studiously head bent towards her laptop
Her fingers are nimble and move too fast; she makes mistakes
but she goes back to correct them
The wind made her hair frizzy and she reaches up too many times to smooth it
Her legs cross at the ankles, she rubs one nervously against the other
The teacher drones on
Her head dips, wilted flower, dying tree
She could be bored
XII
She’s washing dishes, something slow playing in the background
It’s melancholy, something sweet in the dark of the kitchen
The soap she’s using could smell like orange or lemon
Her hands are red and rough from the hot water and her back hurts; long day
The song unfurls… i glow pink in the night in my roommmmm
She could be blossoming
XIII
She runs up to someone and hugs them.
It’s a big hug, one where her feet lift off the ground and her head
tucks in between their neck and shoulder
and she clutches their back like she’s drowning
She’s laughing, smiling, happy
she’s touching their hair, face, hands like she needs to hold
“Of course I missed you,” she says, “but you’re here now”
Claire Apel is from Bridgewater, New Jersey, and is currently majoring in History with a minor in Cinema Studies. Her passions include writing, reading, listening to music and watching movies with close friends and family.
Claire wrote this poem for Professor Paul Blaney’s creative writing class, a class that she found “creatively stimulating and personally fulfilling.” Professor Blaney selected this poem for inclusion in WHR.