Listen—
that’s my heart’s hot stutter— a boy invites
his first girl to the dance— my heart is shacked
up with my tongue, its boudoir walls
are painted red & black. This is my torch
song, stage to stalk, white gardenia already gone
dark around its paper edge, tucked behind my diamond
studded ear, my throaty lark, my snare
drum wrapped in cotton wool, tambourine to shake
your patent leather party flats. & if you want
a cliff to leap from, honey, I can grant you that— look,
your raven hair (what raven hair?) two steps
on the ancient, Grecian air… Oh, no
it’s really happening, oh, yes, I wanna
be another woman, just this once, I’ll go
down South to 1963, where there’s a dance hall
& a jukebox & a weedy boy with glasses
& a drawl & he just hooked
his hand in my back pocket, oh, it’s tricky,
baby, here’s where it could fall
apart. Every time that dance hall steals
its way into this song, the record scratches, skips
& then I’m back to my insipid, bare bones
start. Desire. & desire & again. When I found
out, when I found out, when I found
& you were there, & you, & my mother’s
in there, too, I’ll never be the beauty
she is, never have that voice, its hot sweet
shot of honey Scotch, never win my father’s
absolute ardor. If I make it back
to 1963, then I know— my mother beat
me to it, look, she’s oh-so-cool, sipping whiskey
with two cubes. She just jumped on
the table in her wiggle dress, electric
blue, her figure eight hips cha-cha, twist & switch. My moon-
faced fellow wolf-whistles & stares. & there
I go again, I can’t shut-up. Today, I woke
& knew— my faded heart had switched
back on, a hot pink neon
light. OPEN
it buzzes in perpetual midnight while those three
girls (oh lined black eyes, oh sweet beehives) heave
& sigh, c’mon & please, be my baby, say you’ll be
my darling, oh just this once, I swear it,just give in.
