Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously


If there is such a thing as reincarnation
the transmigration of souls
I’ve often entertained the idea
that I spent my last life
as a profligate flapper
stockings rolled down
one slipped to the ankle
knees precisely rouged
hair bobbed with a pen knife
and finger waved
with sugar water
far too gay for my own good
I would have smoked with a cigarette holder
as long as my arm
and done my eyes in kohl
because I imagined I had “It”
and admired Theda Bara
for her Egyptian nous
I would dance the Black Bottom
and the Charleston
standing on a platform
balanced on a flag pole
and die in a horrible speakeasy accident
involving a bathtub full of gin
My friends would sing the St. Louis Blues
at my funeral
and compare me to Betty Boop
in the most admiring of ways
and note that the mortician
couldn’t quite
get the smirk off my face
but I sure looked natural

(c) RCGA 2014


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