Saturday Princess

Saturday Princess



Should we count the names
of 3 a.m. come Saturday’s closing bars
when you live the lines of you’re My-space promise,
cat mewing, paws clawing haphazard
under your bedroom door.

In a box marked ‘never’
I daringly search transparencies
whose beauty dripped slowly under
gravity
bowed by heat,
yellowed with nicotine patches
to match circles under apologizing eyes.

there are fingerprints on
cracking skin my tongue
cannot dissolve--
like Jell-O shots
over stretch marks.

Funny there are no children to wake
when your laughter is Jack and Coke
slaughtering the hallway
to your door.

That was a promise
dressed in knit sweaters
Plum skinned when crying ‘mother’
Who never knew the milk and honey of your nights

But I won’t linger long to broach the subject
of glass houses
fearing to bear crosses
where nails shatter walls.