The Luminous Mysteries
For the better part of an hour, I sit
in an examination room, my nose
dripping onto the butcher paper,
having feigned interest in the fake
breast handed to me by a doctor
at this urgent care. I had only hoped
for a quick shot of antibiotics to make
me well once more. After the door
shuts, I drape my red coat over my legs,
the coat I bought at a thrift store in Grosse
Pointe, only a few miles from this decimated
city I loved upon first sight. The doctor
instructed me to practice on this model
until he returned with a script. He takes
my word for my condition, and grabs the breast
from my hand, telling me a girl can never be
too careful, and self-exams are the first line
of defense. Don’t ask me how I ended up
here. I’ve never been good at directions.
Retain this Copy for Your Records
I am a room after everyone has left.
Emptied out, you are free to imagine
anything could happen. There’s a song
playing, the sound so faint that you
can’t tell where it’s coming from
and the vending machines offer all
the candies you remember from childhood –
Fifth Avenue Bars, Milky Ways, Whatchamacallits.
In front of all this proffered sweetness, you
wonder if this is what dying feels like. You
buy a candy bar, sit down on the floor, and surrender
to the ghosts because it’s all that you can think to do.
It’s Later than You Think
There is the reflection of a rainbow
in the Rent to Own window, and puddles
have formed in the holes dotting the parking
lot, the water streaked with rainbows made
of gasoline, and I try to remember what I need
for tomorrow’s work party as I roam the Dollar
General. I grab a bag of pretzels and think,
This is my dinner and all the while, other lives
play out around me. A teenager tells her friend,
I can’t believe Halloween is tomorrow, and I don’t
know what I’m going to be. I wasn’t anything last
year. A man asks his wife, Do you think the rain
has stopped? She doesn’t look at him, only
says, I sure fucking hope so. It’s depressing.
After loading my basket with paper plates
adorned with skulls and witches, I get in line,
looking down while the young couple in front of me
buys a pregnancy test and a bag of Cheetos,
the woman counting out change from a tiny
purse embossed with stars. The cashier, a middle-aged
woman with Bitch tattooed on her neck asks me
if I found what I needed. I nod and say yes, thinking
does anyone? The cashier leans close, warns me
that a man has been following me around the aisles
and asks if I want security to walk me out. I thank her,
saying I’ll make a run for it, as I gather up my bags.
The rain has started again. I glance back, relieved
no one is following me, noticing the sign festooned
over the door, Spooky Savings Inside, as if I wouldn’t know.