Resolution
I am going to live for once among these enormous roses
praying to the moon at midday and
I will smell with all my powers
of concentration these pink and orange flowers while rolling
in the dry dirt covered by thorns and serrated greenish leaves.
I am going to shout god’s four
hundred and twenty names
through these warm tears of beauty, burden, and sorrow
and not stop looking straight into the mirror until quiet
overtakes the day.
I am going to recall sitting
tall with Blake on the cracked and faded
leather stools at our drugstore soda fountain, can of Redi-Whip in
hand,
we once more spoon the golden caramel like pure Heaven onto this
white girl
vanilla ice cream, past our greedy lips into hypnotized mouths,
laughing
as boyhood lust fulfills itself again.
I will walk or ride to the drugstore every afternoon in a ritual
of communion,
not worrying whether my bike stays safe on the near side of
Prescott Street
away from my mother’s fear of traffic, of Catholic dogma and her
dreadful loneliness.
We will steal his mother’s money straight from her black purse to
celebrate
and feast like rich pimps, like pimpled thieves on the lam in
Baghdad or Portland
and never confess our sin.
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