|
|
Kitchen Party
On the coldest night of that winter
we all danced defiantly in Colette’s kitchen
a fiery fiesta on a North End street.
You asked for my number
then traced it softly into the frost
on your windshield.
I was distressed.
I feared the ice would melt
before daybreak
and with it
my hopes of seeing you again
evaporate.
But no
a cold snap that winter
burnt my number
into your glass
like some tattoo
acquired on a whim
that now even the laser
of the northeaster’ sun
Cannot erase.
You did call my number
dialed it over and over.
You read me Lorca.
We listened to Handel
and you told me
it made you think of traveling.
That girl singing,
You said:
“Now – SHE
is taking my hand
and showing me
around castles in Italy.”
And, when you went away
the next winter
I listened to Gorecki and
your friend, Luis warmed my hands
sitting talking on Colette’s icy steps
the same steps we had slipped down
before you left town.
You had said to me before
slightly annoyed
“My friend Luis must think
he is your brother.
He is so worried that
I will hurt you!”
That night, Luis,
my friend, my brother
You noticed the scarlet mitten
that my mother
had knitted for me
lying desolate in the snow
retrieved it elegantly
and fitted it back
on my icy-numb hand
performing a life-saving
transfusion.
~ Composed by Mary Duffy
(For Luis)
Previously published in Luluzine.
Back to the Kits Writers Page
Home
|
|
|
