Special Edition: Elizabeth Bayou-Grace
Fire in Paradise
The first time I saw Texas on fire, dazed
and complicit in the driver’s seat, her
clouds rising out over the back of hill
country rising, I thought for a moment,
with such relief: rain.
A break from the sun
and never setting. Maybe by tonight,
I thought with such relief, we’ll sleep. But fire
was eating whatever wind it may. I
used to think living forever young was
the endgame. Under sun, the years swift pass
unnoticed. Fake plastic trees live longest.
No one will tell you when you’re growing sick,
Elizabeth. They’ll say thin. Have you seen
how the summer brays and flaunts? Vogues and screams.
Remembering The Day Before My Marriage
Most people are disappointing.
Around me, the ones I have loved fail
to rise and become. Great brains pickled
in jars, to be placed on a shelf.
As if to be used later.
Saved for good company. Silver locked up
in glass cabinets. My mother,
she used to only use the good silver
for the holidays, but she liked
the way it felt on her teeth
better, and one morning
she put it all in the regular drawers.
The silver gets tarnished, a little ugly,
but it still feels better on the teeth.
The good stuff becomes daily wear.
I think for a while there,
I was hoping all the good stuff was to come.
R. was dancing in kitchen / bedroom
in Little Pink House by the river,
as he made us one last late night snack
before we slept unwed
for the last time.
We took it all off the shelves.
The good stuff.
The daily wear.