flash bulb premonitions
She said a prayer for the safety of his soul
It wasn’t just because she had given him
a blow job once when he was feeling very low
Their core really was a deep friendship
even though there were plenty who never
believed it could be just that
It wasn’t the way he could sing silky soft
on a stage, yet at the same time slick like the
Dapper Dan tonic shellacking his hair back
It wasn’t the way he could swing with his
black & white wing-tipped shoes pointing up
at the stars and her red lips, all at the same time
It wasn’t the way he placed his hand
gently on the small of her back while
dancing her around the floor
Or even the way he called her “doll”
from days gone by, reminding the 21st century
of a past or how he could never quite fit in
like he did so perfectly wearing white zoot suits
The fact was he called every woman “doll”
It still made her feel special
Giving her a quick little tingle
Unnerving her feministic esthetic only slightly
She knew It was his sweetness always
seeping through, no matter how many times
people and circumstances wanted to
beat it out of him. Beginning with his father
and then every other man who slept with his mother
His heart was always broken by some skinny “doll”
in an off- the-shoulder tight black velvet dress
who looked good sipping a martini
but could never heal the hurt
no matter how pretty she was
He had charisma like a black and white film hero
always down on his luck but unlike the movies
he could never quite get together by the third act
or any act for that matter
Everything was always on a repeating loop
She could almost hear the clicks of the film frame
sprockets slapping against the metal projector
For him the endings never faded in rich velvet black
It was always the lighting flash of white light reality
too bright for his blue eyes always flickering
trying to hide under downward lids
His vintage car was never running
despite the slight trace of grease
underneath his fingernails
It was part of their ritual
they never brought it up
she would always volunteer to drive
even though any other time
she never wanted too
The devil would come to him
Not even in the desert or after 40 nights
He would say to him “Hey, yo, Daddio”
Just like he would to any other guy
They would tell each other stories
not sure if they were even their own
They would compare their botched tattoos
leaking bad ink all over their narratives
and bodies, they never could erase
They would buy each other drinks,
Bum smokes one right after another
Show the tear tracks on each of their arms
Parked next to the train tracks
she waited in her car for him for hours
Pretending she wasn't feeling as lonely
as the train whistle in the black night
He always came back
resting his head on her shoulder
whisper- singing “So sorry doll”
is all it would take, then all was forgiven
That morning she heard him singing the song
in her head before it played on her radio
She hadn’t seen or heard from him in years
maybe even a couple of decades
She didn’t have the heart
to calculate how much time
had really gone by or remember
what made her finally walk away
She stared at the mirror
seeing only who she used to be
She put on her best vintage dress
with lined hose on the back of her legs
always remaining perfectly straight
Not a strand of her hair ever out of place
She carried her pocket book, not a purse
Walking out to the flash of bright daylight
slashing across her body, it almost felt like hurt
She could not shake the sound of his
velvet voice soul serenading in her brain
She didn’t know how she knew
It had never happened before
She just knew all the sweetness
was gone from the world that day
as she put on her cat-eye sunglasses
walking further into the bright sun
howling for angels
She had written so much about
angels and their feather white wings
and ones with black feather too
She had nothing left to say
Angels stopped whispering
to her pen
It didn’t stop her from mourning.
It didn’t stop her from seeing
them everywhere.
In lines in the grocery stores
flipping through shiny magazines
In the shape of night clouds
In tattooed markings on
monarch butterflies
Asleep in doorways
with shopping cart treasures
A white spot flying
across her cat’s face
Luminously surrounding babies
born and those hearing
angels singing the blues
smiling their last breath
She walked across grass
well worn, gingerly stepping
over and around
white grave markers
a little piece of heaven
for eternity, for a price
Life is reduced to a headline
A one-line description
No not her
She was sending a siren
a scream in a high frequency
only angels could hear
She was going end
it all in a haiku:
The angels showed up
In the graveyard. She needed
the comfort of cliche.
you won a trip!*(pomo haiku)
Bouncing back & forth
between heaven/hell. Landed
middle murky earth
*pomo haiku: pomo is short for “postmodern” in reference to the genre of literature that avoids absolute meaning and does not assume universality.
