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.
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