Wintercearig Waltz and Other Poems

Wintercearig Waltz

I add three cups of powdered sugar
     to the angel food cake,
     Made with real angels, I say to the shadows.

The water spider in the measuring cup
     does the backstroke. The snow you shoveled
     in the driveway holds us captive.

I lick my fingers and stroke a blessing
     across my tongue. We are all achieving things
     these days. You ask me if waltzing

should be taught in school instead of physics.
     When I respond, What doesn’t move forward
     becomes part of the problem,

we know this is us and the economy.
     I am the snowball
     wishing you were a supernova,

and you are a supernova wishing I’d lower
     my expectations. Later, when
     I add gin to the devil’s food cake,

the devil removes his muzzle.
     The cat peers into the kitchen
     and sees a ghost, which I am

these days, as well as a devil.
     You and the cat wish I were
     baking pumpkin pie

and we were happier, but my dessert
     is a forgotten dance, a shot
     of something in my drink.

Sometimes after I stop crying, the moon
     places its hands around my hips—
     We’re cool, I say and roll over

to my other lover, pillow,
     my other lover, murmur, my other
     lover—a newly discovered word.
People on couch
To continue reading please sign in.
Join for free