Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Poem: Memorial Day

Memorial Day

On the day you blew out your last birthday candles
I sat midway up a row of seats
dazzled by a cowgirl fiddler wearing the kind of
gypsy sparkle dress you would
take to work on Halloween

It isn’t supposed to be like this
there isn’t supposed to be a world where I can see
a cowgirl fiddler
or a step-drop accordionist
or some high-hatted peg of a bass player, and not
bring them back to you
wrapped in the ribbons of my words

The cowboy sang a song in Spanish
you should have heard it
rising into his smile
bringing water from the skies

Driving home I tried to remember that rain
does not always mean sadness
but could not raise my voice, thinking of
you, trilling over Sunday morning pancakes
great showtunes of the American stage

 First published in North Atlantic Review
(Stony Brook, New York)

Photo by MJV

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