Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Lucia Maria Perillo’s "Skin" explores themes of youthful innocence, the policing of female sexuality, and the inevitable passage of time that transforms the body from a site of danger to a memory of what once was. The poem juxtaposes sensuality with societal control, myth with mundane legal consequences, and past self-perception with the awareness that comes with aging. Through lush imagery and a quietly mournful tone, Perillo examines the way the female body is both feared and fetishized, both punished and desired, and ultimately, irretrievably lost to time.

The poem opens with an almost conspiratorial observation: “Back then it seemed that wherever a girl took off her clothes the police would find her—” This line immediately establishes an atmosphere of restriction and surveillance, as if the act of female nudity, or even sexual exploration, is inherently illicit. The next lines specify the places where these moments occur: “in the backs of cars or beside the dark night ponds, opening like a green leaf across / some boy’s knees.” The comparison of a girl’s body to a “green leaf” suggests freshness, vulnerability, and the natural unfolding of desire. However, this is not merely an innocent moment; the following description—“the skin so taut beneath the moon / it was almost too terrible, / too beautiful to look at”—captures the way youth, particularly youthful female sexuality, carries both awe and danger. The paradox of “too terrible, too beautiful” suggests that this beauty holds an unspoken power, a potential for destruction or transformation that the girl herself does not yet understand.

The next line—“a tinderbox, though she did not know”—introduces a critical shift. The girl, in her innocence, does not recognize the potential consequences of her body’s allure, but others do. The term “tinderbox” suggests a volatile situation, something that, if struck the wrong way, could ignite. It foreshadows the intrusion of authority figures, the way these private moments will be criminalized or violently interrupted.

Then comes the arrival of the enforcers of order: “But the men who came / beating the night rushes with their flashlights and thighs—they knew.” The phrase “beating the night rushes” gives the men a predatory quality, as if they are hunting, not just policing. The addition of “their flashlights and thighs” suggests both authority and an unsettling physicality, as if they are not entirely separate from the desire they claim to regulate. These men, the poem asserts, understand something deeper about female beauty and its historical consequences: “About Helen, / about how a body could cause the fall of Troy / and the death of a perfectly good king.” By invoking Helen of Troy, Perillo connects these teenage encounters to a mythic lineage, positioning female beauty as a force that civilizations have both revered and feared. Helen’s body is blamed for war and destruction, just as these girls’ bodies are implicitly blamed for the trouble they find themselves in.

The consequences play out in routine legal procedures: “So they read the boy his rights and shoved him spread-legged against the car / while the girl hopped barefoot on the asphalt, cloaked in a wool rescue blanket.” The contrast here is striking. The boy, though handcuffed, is treated in a familiar script of male transgression and punishment. The girl, however, is wrapped in a “rescue blanket”—a gesture that positions her simultaneously as a victim and a wrongdoer. She is physically exposed, “hopping barefoot on the asphalt”—a small but crucial detail that emphasizes her discomfort and displacement.

The next stanza expands the scope beyond just sexual transgression, capturing the broader landscape of youthful restriction: “Or sometimes girls fled so their fathers wouldn’t hit them, their legs flashing as they ran. / And the boys were handcuffed just until their wrists had welts and let off half a block from home.” The poem acknowledges that for some girls, these moments are not just about desire but about escape, running from domestic violence. Meanwhile, the boys, though briefly punished, are not permanently marked. Their discipline is momentary; the girls? consequences are more ambiguous, more lasting.

The poem then turns to the speaker’s own youthful beliefs: “God for how many years did I believe there were truly laws against such things, / laws of adulthood: no yelling out of cars in traffic tunnels, no walking without shoes, / no singing any foolish songs in public places.” This passage shifts the focus from sexuality to a broader sense of restriction—youth as a period governed by unwritten rules that dictate proper behavior. The phrase “laws of adulthood” suggests an internalized belief in arbitrary prohibitions, a learned fear that deviation from social norms will result in punishment. The speaker’s recollection of these supposed laws carries a mix of amusement and regret, highlighting the irrational constraints placed upon youthful expression.

Then comes the central revelation: “And out of all these crimes, unveiling the body was of course the worst.” The speaker now recognizes that, above all, the exposure of the female body was the ultimate taboo. This line is followed by a striking explanation: “as though something / about the skin’s phosphorescence, its surface as velvet / could drive not only men but civilization mad, / could lead us to unspeakable cruelties.” The body is described with luminous, almost sacred imagery—“phosphorescence” suggests an ethereal glow, something radiant and impossible to hide. The phrase “could drive not only men but civilization mad” reinforces the idea that female beauty, particularly youthful beauty, is seen as both intoxicating and perilous, something that must be controlled lest it lead to chaos. This belief, the poem suggests, is deeply ingrained in societal structures, shaping everything from myths to legal systems.

The final lines shift from observation to personal reckoning: “There were elders who from experience understood these things much better than we. / And it’s true: remembering I had that kind of skin / does drive me half-crazy with loss.” The “elders” are figures of authority who have internalized these fears, passing them down as unspoken wisdom. But the speaker, now older, sees the same knowledge through a different lens—not as cautionary but as something personally mourned. The final line—“Skin like the spathe of a broad white lily / on the first morning it unfurls”—is one of exquisite fragility. The comparison to a lily’s first bloom captures the once-effortless beauty of youth, but also its fleeting nature. The “spathe”—a sheath that protects a flower before it fully opens—suggests both exposure and the inevitable loss of that early perfection.

"Skin" is a poem about memory, control, and the shifting perceptions of beauty and power. Perillo captures the paradox of female youth: how it is both desired and policed, how it exists in a liminal space between innocence and danger. The poem’s final revelation—that the speaker, too, once had that kind of luminous, untamed beauty—adds a deeply personal note of longing. The world may fear and regulate the female body, but what is perhaps more devastating is the realization that its unguarded radiance is temporary. Time, more than law, is the ultimate enforcer.

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