There Remains One Story
I Have Never Told
Not Even To Myself
@aladreth
Copyright 1999-2015
Pass the Salt
For Princesses and Planets
to Eat the Rich
and pickle the wounds
of unruly slaves
I'm telling you,
The big juicy part of my life is
-O-V-E-R-
I no longer fill this space
I'm about to walk through
for the last time.
Some of the doors
I remember
shut in pain
slammed in anger;
might as well
block these doorways
with thick scarlet museum velvet ropes.
In one fantasy ...
I lived in an Oakland Loft
scent of night blooming jasmine,
cigar smoke, rum, and perfume,
practicing ritualistic Island Tea Dances
constantly wiping off dirt
from tumbles.
In another fantasy ...
I sip latte in a corner cafe with Drag Queen Tramps
locked in Riots
over Wonder Bras and fuschia lipsticks
before taking the ferry
(where I casually cross and uncross my legs to expose black lace panties)
to San Francisco,
pulsing cool breeze rustling my garden artichokes
along ivy covered stuffed clay
held in place by lead channels.
A Melange of Wet Music plays in the distance
Neither Spanish
Nor African
but a unique synthesis of "How Do You Repay A Killer?"
or "God Rest You Merry Gentleman"
(you pick the Season)
In the final act
before my death
on an October Rainstorm Night
I fall asleep behind soda green shutters
to waves crashing against the sea wall,
marble floor
over ocean beach Babble
and I tell My Daughter,
"all this will be yours when I'm gone"
and she says,
"When do you think you might go?"
