This poem was originally published by Part-Time Poets. Issue 29.
No excuses. Pick your next move:
Some people scream into pillows, others name
their grief Steve and set a place for him at dinner.
Mine is called Ernesto, he’s Swedish and he’s a stranger
to daylight, so I forgive him. Naturally, he likes to quote
Kierkegaard. That guy knew a thing or two about
connecting the dots backwards. But it’s the part
about living fast-forward Ernie conveniently swallows.
It still gets me every time. You know,
Ernesto can be a bit dramatic. He always wants me
to dress for my own funeral. But I pick the red backless
dress instead and microwave my lunch at 4 p.m. like Lady Madrid.
Yes, it’s good china Wednesday. Everyday. Time to crack
open that bottle of champagne I’ve been saving
for a special occasion. What’s more special
than being alive? After dinner, I serve two Oreos
like communion. (Take three, if you’re religious.)
For dessert there’s nothing better than writing
my name on the mirror. Kissing it. (With tongue
for advanced patients). And then the grand finale:
smashing the handmade mug from third grade
pottery class and spending two hours reassembling it.
Same same, but different. Just like me. In bed,
I make a vow to never again miss a chance
to dance it out in an elevator. Ernesto wouldn’t approve.
Who cares? He’s asleep by now.
More from Tanja Lau ↓
