Articles,, Poem

midnight: A Poem


midnight: A Poem

a woman drinks a glass of wine alone

in the ancient liquor cellar. she is

wearing hand-me-down pearls. the lonely

december aches outside, but she is warm.

this woman’s dress is not ancient wine.

it is something lesser: the faded ink of

a red tattoo or ruddy clay smeared

behind closed eyelids.

she walks into the ballroom, the chandelier

hanging there; a pale and glowing thing.

the dress fits lovingly around

her torso and billows around her legs,

moving with her while she dances.

and she dances like hair falling haphazardly

around someone’s face.

the ballroom is elegance. she is not elegance.

she keeps dancing nonetheless.

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