Claressinka Anderson

L.A. Sonnet

Los Angeles, brittle beauty with boned corset 
of sky, I want to lace you up so tight 
all your blue disappears into some backdoor in space. 
Don’t worry, L.A., that’s where you’ll find me, alone
in a gown of clouds, drinking martinis in the private room—
a side of rainwater, the noir stars fissured on my skin. 
There was a man I loved once (maybe you loved him too?), 
together we planted a shame tree in his name. It’s a variety you know well: 
drought-resistant, it thrives in every yard. Its leaves make shadows 
on my bathroom window when I dance in front of the mirror at night. 
My face catches the light differently since our eyes first met:
Arm weights, leg weights. Check. 
Los Angeles, like you, I’m staying young, 
my youth setting inside me like the incessant, flaming sun.