New Poem - "Mercredi Gras"
Mercredi Gras
Because you cannot remember
how on earth you came to hold
these shiny green beads in your hand,
little baby dice sequined in orange and lavender
you’ll rack your brain, surprising yourself
with the recall of the tilt of certain stars
and the flight path of embers gliding up from a fire;
you’ll remember one girl’s laugh echoing in the dark;
and you’ll feel it again, the whiskey stinging the back of your throat
but what dance must you have done
to be gifted with a little pretty thing like this?
This, the answer, eludes you.
How worse it must be for you
if you can’t even conceive yourself
dancing in pleasure or deliria,
whatever it must have took to earn those beads,
how worse for you if you cannot see yourself ever
as exhibitionist, letting yourself be whatever was necessary
for a trinket to be sprinkled down on you
from some candlelit beer can balcony over the street-
oh sure, others could have done such a dance, others,
others could have been bawdy enough at the witching hour
but not you, you must have drawn your collar close around your neck
when the night got cold and walked the quiet sidewalk home.
In your kitchen, then,
stand, and listen to the hum of the fridge getting louder,
as if the fridge itself is growing, it’s crazy, in size;
focus on that sound so you can drown out
the music of confusion inside,
drown out the snap of a stick of chalk
breaking on the blackboard in your head;
who is that, writing your name?
who is that, composing an accusation
in the back of your mind?
If you can honestly say
that you know in your heart
no one would ever throw you something shiny
in return for you showing a little bit of you,
then how can you account for having to ask others
how to pronounce this middle name
you’ve just discovered you have;
how can you explain the presence of starfish
and dollar signs around your neck now,
this rosary that glows in the dark?