28 of 30. Night Ritual

Slipping out of my dress

while the deli downstairs is still

busy with people wanting beef patties and

bbq chicken sandwiches on toasted rolls,

I remember that I’m supposed to call my mom

and thank her for getting her motorcycle license

with the guy who runs the dance hall.

And thinking about whether or not to hang it up or

put it in the hamper or

leave it in a yellow puddle of cotton and corset by my bed

I hear the air conditioner down shift.

I’m too tired to move my bicycle,

resting between my tea cart and writing desk,

too tired to move my rollerblades that I’m

sure I will fall over in the morning.

It’s been a beautiful day.

The bride found her gown,

and we gathered around her with all of the

murmuring yes’s a saturday morning

boutique in Chelsea could hold

while she was pinned and tucked

and veiled and glowed like

a woman in love is prone to do.

And now, after the cupcakes

and chiffon, and dancing

and murmuring

and wondering where I’ll live

in two weeks,

I finally decide to drape

the dress over the armchair.

The deli door downstairs still

slams and the bell rings steady

while I crawl into bed,

in the dark of my room.

 

 

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, Food, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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