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2. a real fine parade, your sister and I

by Bob Arcania

In the kitchen drawer, where
you kept your silent matches,
I got tired of the leftover birthday candles rattling
about. I made you

a cake, and there is only enough for your one sister
and I; the leftovers
dripping into the frosting.
You are not here, and neither of us make a wish.

She wore a gorgeous mink-fur fringed dress with Dali smeared
in giant circus circles across the back. Abigail filled
the entirety of the kitchen (it was your birthday) and I
lived the corner well.

The cake tasted like the zoo on that rainy day
when she lifted her skirt in front of the leopards,
and two boys saw a sight they would always

forget. I never knew
how much the giraffes looked sad.
Her fingers melted down her knees
like the wax, and she cried because you werenÂ’t here
to blow the candles out.
To let them dry.
To let them sink.

I will forgive

you because the zoo had three lions, your favorites,
and your sister and I released the faded blue balloons
into their cages and I watched as each one
popped.

She covered her eyes in pink confetti
and every stranger we knew in the whole damn place
set off fireworks and we danced to the whizzbangs
and the hoots and hollers
until everything

died off.

04/03/2008

Author's Note: it was a real grand party and everyone who was nobody came and stayed for a real long while

Part of a series. See also:
1. Abigail, it is raining.
3. An array of maps
4. Vocalizing the Red Fox Siblings
5. correspondence

Posted on 04/04/2008
Copyright © 2022 Bob Arcania

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