Would that be enough
What if I find the one
who fits like a river stone
into the curves of my body
one who likes the food I like
and music too
calls me often with a timber
of adoration in his voice
never forgets to close a door
hang up his coat
sees dust on the table
and wipes it away
what if his star
aligns perfectly with my libra
and he tells me
I’m a goddess among the masses
Would I give up waiting
for the earth to shake
the ocean to roil
my heart to be set on fire
A little spit, a slender vial
a promise of connections
to people who live
in colored shapes of distant lands
on the globe spinning in my hand.
I mail it in and wait
did I really want more cousins
I’ve all but abandoned
the ones I know, the ones
who mirror my brown eyes
sharp nose, wispy hair.
The family knot is fraying
no calls, no shared meals,
sisters don’t speak to each other.
A PDF file shows
a sprinkling of new spitting
cousins - second, third, fourth
and more. But can you blame
me for losing interest after
my DNA reveals that the father
buried next to my mother
is not related to me.
In pursuit of her dream
You can tell a rich Boston girl
from a poor one. After all, that’s
what accents and manners are there for.
Rules of Civility
by Amor Towels
When she was a young girl she was beguiled by the trappings,
the manners, the elocution of a mighty vocabulary.
She would listen for the rich tones
delivered by tongues that were born and raised
in upper crust high rise apartments ruling over lake Michigan.
Knew how to follow the money, how to modulate words,
the subtleties between rough wool and smooth as silk cashmere
worn on the erect backs of gentlemen who had arrived, or held the keys
to the castle in their fleshy hands from the moment they were born.
She understood the usefulness of a late appearance, out of breath
yet without apology, her emerald cocktail dress quivering, announcing
that she had entered the room, changed the molecules, turned heads.
A mere shadow of a smile teasing over her lips created longing
in men’s gabardine pants while ladies pulled in slim bellies,
inched their shoulders back, felt taller.
Skilled in the hallowed art of the entrance and exit, she eventually
mastered the fine technique of staying, swindled herself
into a permanent place among the genteel crowd,
avoided exposure of her coarse beginnings. But coarseness,
she would learn, was also found beneath tailored merino suits
and in the calf-leather seats of a Bentley.