Today, I will wear knee-high socks.
These will I camouflage in combat
boots, so that the cotton tops
peep out from their trenches,
daring to showcase stripe—laces
half-tied, the antithesis of constraint.
Today, I will cuff my shirtsleeves.
I will slide the ends up inversely, jam
up the folds, J-Crew-style. Buzzfeed
taught me how. Starch will contain
my triceps—suffocation by snake—
buttons rendered meaningless.
My fingers will be bound by vicious
silver bands, but my toes will begin
to wander and roam the vast;
fast and silent, heels skimming
gently sandpapered concrete.
For now, I am knee-deep in tar.
My calves ache with the wear
of one thousand knee-highs,
socks slipping down in rings
to my salty, skinny ankles.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
really nice.. you can speak so easily and brightly about so many themes.. reading your poetry - well penned and mature, but also fresh, lively - one can't figure out that you're still very young (18, right?)