Poetry by Angelica Whitehorne

               David Prasad CC



​Your Best American Girl
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Corn in the teeth, butter on the chin, American. Driving past fields 
and fields of green, soiled and toiled, all the buried bodies making my 
nutrients underneath. Ice in my glass clinks, soda pop, sugar tongue, 
bullets in my gun clink, release, this is my wounding legacy. 
American beauty, shaved clean and propped up pretty, wrapped in 
plastic and fool’s gold, first picked off the shelf, always. My spittle
bold, my bruises blue and patriotic, my flag of surrender built into my 
skin. What other violences have they let me purchase with an Amex 
or a blown kiss? Print out my photograph and put it in your wallet, 
and when you run your thumb over my face, don’t feel guilty for 
remembering me two dimensionally. What can a girl hope to be 
besides a flat piece sticking out a man’s back pocket? I was made to 
be owned, I was made to be replicated, I was made to be disbursed. 
The next time you go to pay, instead of cash, put my face on the 
counter and see what I am worth.


*Titled after a song by Mitski.



Angelica is a writer from Buffalo, New York who has published or forthcoming work in Westwind Poetry, Mantis, The Laurel Review, The Cardiff Review, North Dakota Quarterly, and Hooligan Magazine, among others. Besides being a devastated poet, Angelica is a Marketing Content Writer for a green energy loan company. She is also currently writing her first novel, so wish her luck.
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