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AMPERSAND -- Prose Poem


I play Nazareth’s tango while you flap my yellow dress & hang it on the blue balcony. Your hands are dry like an entangled fish when its scales fall away after an ebb tide. You collect fish bones & line them up on a silver plate like a glockenspiel. A white fish is steamed in the red pot. I like to eat it with pepper & yuzu-citrus. Raindrops beat on the kitchen windows & insensible pavement. Here in the Midwest, I don’t smell rain like that. You look in the mirror at a lump in your breast & I live in rain years.

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