WHY HE WANTS TO BE THE POET FROM LES SYLPHIDES IN YOUR LIFE
In the ballet Les Sylphides, the poet gets to hold hands with two women
and neither one seems to mind the other, so he doesn’t think you would either—
He wanders around as if he’s in a dream because most of the time he is and when he’s awake
his eyes are half-opened or half-closed depending on your point of view.
While the sylphides, that is, the jilted dead women,
are hard at work running, regrouping, waiting expectantly, he wanders
the stage and manages not to run into anyone because everyone’s aware of him, but he ignores them. He’ll stand and support you when he’s not busy showing off and look at you with bedroom eyes, but that might mean he’s about to fall asleep again.
At the end of the day, or the ballet, he has two women draped on his shoulders. (I wonder if Michel Fokine thought this out) How nice for the poet guy, but is that what you want?
We trudge higher towards the broken clouds shredded like torn denim. I slip, trip,
rip jeans, skin knees, grind palms. You carry me like a duffel bag
slung across your back. Rain trickles off your shoulders,
pools in the bends of my elbows. We land in a heap on the crest
heaving like how the hills were formed when frozen earth thawed and rose—
Fireflies hidden in the grass blink a thousand winking eyes,
waiting for the storm to pass.