"Strangers of Fortune"
continued...
"Could we just date forever?"
she turned and said
"Then your cool touch wouldn't bother so much--
Smooth on a cloudy night, and it could just be that.
I'm afraid of tomorrow, and concerned for today."
You move your head against the soft bosom of Fortune
Shut your sea-born eyes, sigh,
resign yourself to the fact
Nothing might ever change.
You'll agree for now
You'll let the world stop under your tired feet
Just this once
And you'll show up at the door
Resolute with your Brut and your small bouquet
Every Friday night at seven sharp.
There's no teaching Fortune.
She traipses innocent through the wolf's garden--
Sighs under the night sky and rests her curly head
On the shoulder of the nearest philosopher.
Anyone could be that sweet poet.
Slow dance to the movement of
the clouds or the washing
Machine. Don't tell her she's wrong.
Fortune believes the lies, too;
Love, luck, and mercy go to the
gorgeous eyes of the beholder.
"He's got such _deep_ eyes...."
Instead, teach the moon a new song,
mean it when you bring roses,
forgive a beautiful tremble.
Maybe you'll finally be the one
who learns.
Her fingers are cold again.
The sprites watch from the hollows
As she struggles with her nature.
(Nothing's left), she thinks.
(I've left myself in the dust and withered away)
Someone else's embrace wasn't enough for the thrill of luck
Anymore. This isn't the first time
but she trusts her feelings
And forgets the past.
Her shoulders are cold.
Someone kept them warm for so long
Breathed words of violet on her sweet neck--
But it's over now, and the night is swallowing her.
Fortune is her own punishment.
A night with Fortune may be the sweetest night of your life.
She's open to suggestions and regrets nothing--
One kiss and you could be her first love
All over again. It's luck of the draw with Fortune--
(were there ever such eyes as yours?
the moon should be ashamed...)
Dance with the stars in her eyes
while you can. It's not every day
That mere mortals contend with this sprite-child;
Every other day, some suspect,
but who can resist
Overlooking the faults in favor of
Cinnamon eyes in starlight?
You haven't seen her in two days
and your hands are shaking.
You've picked up a virus-- you know, one of those
Rare South American gnats or whatnot.
You can't sleep, and your nose stings every time
You think about how close you came.
It's allergies or that gumbo-- you'd never cry.
Her sweet scent lingers still on your favorite blue shirt
And you remember the stars
And talking about food
and religion
and love
You haven't lost her yet.
Something held her attention on your soft cheek
And you became one of the chosen.
The gypsy princess marked you then--
But only the moon knows
how long you'll survive.
So few have seen her in daylight.
They say she hides in that old gypsy-cart
Tucked in the bayou hollows, where the tangled trees
Whisper among themselves and huddle together to shun
The rude intrusion of noon.
Ancient gilt flakes from the faded shutters
Barring the view of foolish suitors.
Who can prove that this is the lair of
Fortune? Where does she go
To rest her dancing shoes, comb her moon-tousled amber hair,
Sleep off the remains of that
practiced shy Southern smile
That replays itself through the daydreams and tales
Of a dozen sprite-struck
White knights?
Twilight forms a circle round his head
And the warm sphere of his reach is her island
Out on the lake alone
She rocks the small boat, testing her range
She looks over the water serene in her pink dress.
The journeyman's kisses were sweeter than most
And this is the last midnight ride
before his return
To the family he's forgotten already
The home he built long ago--
Dragonflies, witness to the soft cry
and the single tear,
Brush against his cheeck in warning
Not to let his heart
Leave Louisiana.
The swamplands take their fill
Of another gentle parting.
It's always a surprise.
Each new enemy of solitude
Was once the trailing runner
In the pack of possibles:
Never given a moment's admiration
Till some certain fated evening.
At that point the dance begins--
Shy smiling circles intertwine
Their arms, their fingers,
Her hair 'round his neck atop a grassy ridge;
But always the sun will rise
Just as forever winter chases
the fall into love
And bleak light will fill his eyes,
weary from the affairs of darkness.
Disillusionment is inevitable,
the crushing blow
And Fortune strikes out once more.
The sky is ugly, fluorescent teal and glare
When he opens his eyes:
The sun is cruel against his sweat-dampened skin.
He can't handle daylight,
Fortune's ruined his chances. Now
Each breath he takes is one more step towards twilight,
The blessed release of a diver
breaking the surface
Or the first yellow bloom of spring...
She controls his thoughts, the hope of her,
The wink she sent across the ballroom
As the band played his new
favorite song.
Mist runs heavy in the gully in the
earliest hours of morning
Spreading its gray, humid doctrines over each
Unsuspecting flower in its fold.
The night has gone too long,
but never long enough
To satisfy this new passion:
One teasing kiss became so suddenly
A lifetime of exploration.
Every breath taken was a wasted moment,
Some secret century too selfishly kept,
And still in the early morning light they held fast
To the hopeless need for the moon never to rise again,
And the sun never to disturb
Their all-too-temporary shelter.
What kind of man can hope for favor
In the misty, moonbeam eyes of Fortune?
Her fickle ways the puzzlement of old wives and reverends,
She's more an event than a personality.
She moves through dim-lit barrooms, light as a Northern
Snowflake, and ignores the whispers
Graciously.
Little cares are her mainstay:
She'd read your palm rather than talk of local news,
Send a glittering glance as reward
for any departure from the
Norm.
It's all so clear to her.
She loves for real, each time,
each moment
New as a dew-flecked rose.
The one man she couldn't have
Was in the dance hall tonight.
He pinned her to the punchbowl
with a stare that said
(Where's my little gypsy going tonight?)
He slipped a suave smile to the blonde at table seven
Just to see if she noticed--she did--
She feared him, but oh, she wanted
him, his cold, knowing touch.
For an instant they were so near across the crowded room
Their breath
Had a heated conversation of its own--
Then the distance returned with a cruel snapping vengeance
Obliterating her faint hope
For that forbidden fruit
That dangerous man of the mob.
That time of year again: the streets
full of laughter, lovers and friends
Mingling in the crepe-paper fantasy
Of Mardi Gras. But one missing
Curls alone beside her small fire;
The boys in the town, her fickle toys,
They are all strangers of Fortune
Hiding her cream-colored secrets
From the summer storm's hot wind
and the soft rain of kisses
She endures every evening.
No masks and revelry for this Southern belle:
Tonight she celebrates all alone
The nearest approximation to that mysterious day
Fortune first smiled upon the Louisiana hillsides.
All alone and bittersweet, for so many know the woman
But nobody loves the child.
Your shoulders sting with the force
of her gaze on your back
And you keep walking despite
The touch of those lips burnt into your wrist.
This will fade in time, you know
And storybook reunions so rare these days
It's best not to go out on limbs
Or even climb trees.
She asked you in an offhand
October sort of way
Where you planned on stopping
And it made you wonder
If you ever would.
The first leaf falls as you cross the border.
Fortune went out to the movies
Left her popcorn in the lap
of the washerwoman's son
And stepped out for some air.
He was there
Larger than life and wearing a cowboy hat.
You only know any actor as far as his repertoire.
This one had come as a surprise:
distant and repellent,
Turned weekend Romeo under her dancing gaze.
Gone as quickly as he came
And forgotten like last year's
Christmas pageant.
Still, the truth hurts sometimes
When it's larger than life
And riding a gorgeous white horse.
Hopeful kisses tint the world a pale pink
And the daisies blush to see
their innocence upstaged.
She holds his hand under the starlight
And the silent shifting shadows of the leaves.
They truly believe they're alone.
The owls whistle his name
But Fortune sighs and the rest is a memory.
Other people's opinions slide
down rabbit-holes
And they revel in the dark
As if it were fashioned in their name.
She cried all night in the trusting arms of a friend
The soft sounds of solace
And the reluctant release of
something that could never be.
They both knew that
The passing of seasons was time enough for birds
To learn to fly
Above the lights of the city
And the sounds
Of the all-night dance floors.
Twisting her body in a dream
Fortune slipped up in between
The blue and violet of the sky
And she knelt among the singing clouds.
Fortune saw her mother there
Soft and still without a care
Living as she'd never died
And trusting her wings to carry her weight
"Never leave me, never see
The ground below-- My dear, I'll be
The stars for you, I'll be your light."
Everything glows when you trust
in your heart's visions.
Fisherman boy
Never stays out late.
Brown skin and tough hands,
the weathered appeal
That sends sweet girls after him in flocks.
He's never even seen Fortune.
A few of his cardplaying buddies
Spin tantalizing tales
Of golden berry hair and a touch like rose petals
But who has time for fantasy
When you're up with the sun each day?
It's like teaching snowball tactics
To a Southern child--
No use to anyone.
Fisherman boy
Stopped believing in fairies
long ago.
There's a chill in the air
And nobody to hear her cry
This afternoon.
The sun holds no sympathy for
the fairy-children
But Fortune tries anyway
Angling her hand over her eyes
And wishing for winter.
She knows only the world she lives for,
Hapless wanderer of the hills
and the dark avenues
But her hope is trapped in a dim
memory of silver hair
Or gold, or black--
And hands always gentle as violins.
One more time, today as ever,
She'll get in line for the steamboat
Ticket out of her gypsy homeland.
The sun laughs, knowing his fire on the water
Will drive her back to another night.
Anything, not to be alone.
The woods are calm with the scent
Of his cologne. Wind speaks through
His lips when he tells her he loves her
But he's a traveler, and he's been here
before. She looks at him
Soft as the hairs on his arm
And wonders about life
And why fireflies die if she puts them in jars.
She won't hold back tonight.
There wouldn't be birds in the sky
if she didn't say "yes"
It's not nature's way to deny the rain.
Love rests on the tip of her tongue
But she's tasted it before
And his tender touch is bittersweet.
But unlike the others in its need
to fulfill before itself.
Could there be a reason for
Fortune after all?
The grocer's black-haired daughter
Is happy tonight.
She strokes the girth of her portly
Petticoats, and dimples her fat cheeks
At the love of her life.
He pours the wine with a calculating hand.
Tonight he will steal more than a kiss,
tomorrow break a heart.
He cares little for this bosomy belle.
Fortune has taught him well.
Once love was the sound of his breathing,
The song of nightingales in the bayou--
His cheated soul now knows the terrible truth.
He takes his pleasure since among the desperate,
Flinging their hopes aside without regret,
For desolation is the reality he creates for himself,
A false pattern after innocence.
There wasn't a soul in the hollow
when she arrived
But no sooner than she brushed
against that first leaf
There appeared the whispering throng--
The shadows filled with a hundred
White knights
Slain by circumstance and time.
Some cower high in the forks of trees
Or in the darkest spaces, forgotten
And some stride boldly to her side
To murmur in her ear of a lost treasure:
The certain lilt of a voice, or a curious gaze.
Fortune lets her mind wander
Briefly through the shadowed walks
and covered bridges,
No longer a child at play,
But reluctant yet to abandon her ghostly players.
Moonlight is her stage,
her lonely centerpiece.
Crumpled papers litter the floor.
He's written again,
one of those seven-page deals
That makes her guilty for wanting
To throw up, or laugh aloud.
The writing is clumsy and priceless,
Scratched in a blunt, soft pencil,
In places too light to read.
He embarrasses her by breathing.
His longings fill the pages,
fill the space between them
That she created quickly, cruelly,
Caught in some irrational fear
Of living such a sugared life,
Pursued by the great romantic
With the terrible spelling.
Take your aim
Carefully for the target is fragile
Hope for the best.
Holding her gently
Your arrow flies, nervous and trembling;
The smell of her hair is faint circus music
And it's five throws for a dollar.
Dizzy from the racing
merry-go-round and
Your racing heartbeat blends
with her blown-glass breathing,
Shuddering gasps like a windchime
In a summer storm.
Steady your hand in the small
of her back
Pause to wipe the sweat from your brow
And press a kiss to hers...
now
shoot!
Tracing the salty line of his jaw With night-drenched fingertips, She looks into the ocean of his eyes As they drift near the mouth of the river. His silence intrigues her But his mind is blank As the ripples 'round their hull. Seabirds cry, lonely circling sirens Above the wary hearts Below the mouths that somehow Find it impossible to speak Above the roar of their crashing souls. Below, the waters are calmer And fish nibble at the trailing ends Of her crystalline fears. He's stronger than that.
Disappointment is a flesh wound And she's bleeding profusely. There isn't a star up above tonight, Nothing but clouds in her burning eyes. He's making excuses And she's making her face up for nothing-- He's making advances And she's making her mind up About the whole world Unfortunately. No prison like the present, No jailer like the past.
Fortune can't be persuaded--only asked
Tribal heartbeat in the rain
Soaked
Steeped in innocence and blood
Needful and clumsy.
Fortune leaves her mark
Drumming drops through the
canopy of green above
Scrabbling, scratching,
caressing apology
Fingernails on eager flesh.
Fortune finds her place
Content in friendly arms and soft
In the mist of white around her heart
Gauzy reassurances that it was
meant to be
And the smell of the bushes after the storm.
You only asked for this rainbow.
Sun spackles the painted tin rooftop
Red and blue in the shameless heat.
There were no more promises
Than could have been expected
Last night:
Time melted away and misted over
For a quivering moment
The knowledge that anything had changed.
Only morning's stately arrival
brought back her mind.
Who could guess that things could be so easy?
As if abandoned avenues had never
closed their doors
Old pleasures awakened from their obsolescence--
But the past is no gift to Fortune
And the future could never include
this blue-eyed rebel.
Branches scrape reminder on the sun-glazed leaves
That morning always means
goodbye.
Lights were low in the corner booth
And her heart was out of town
For the weekend.
Snow she'd never seen was calling her name
And wine was on her brain.
Where was familiar ground that night?
Fortune's haunts of wood and whispers
Were shadowed in the promise of
A fast train to fantasy
And the smile of the businessman.
He said he'd pay her fare.
The faces of the town were
more and more a suffocation
Fortune looked one last time
at her cards
And folded.
That first step
Off of the rickety platform
The edge of her existence.
A cool silver handrail
Beckoning like her favorite lake
After the first summer rain.
How easy it would be
To dive off and swim and swim
And never return.
A moist breeze brushes the
feathered plume of her new hat.
She turns her face one last time
Towards her green gypsy past
Deep breath and shaking hands
The chill of the metal beneath
her fingertips
Her single bag brushing soft
against her thigh
And suddenly
the trees
the buildings
her home
is moving.
He wipes his brow with an
embroidered handkerchief
And clears his age-rattled throat.
Now and them he chuckles
Now and then he smiles
Now and then he tells her she is beautiful.
She sits, demure and rattled
Shyly acknowledging conversation
Folding her hands in her lap.
The bag rests by her feet
And if it were any closer
It would tie itself to her high-laced
Boot, or suddenly appear sewn
Inextricably
In the ruffles of her long skirt.
He absently rubs his troubled knee
And assures her
"I've travelled many times before, my dear..."
Moon shifts silhouettes
Steady across the cabin wall
Her shoulder wrapped in a shawl
And the old man's crookbent nose.
He sleeps now
Weary in his long journey
While hers begins anew
Each rumbling moment.
Wakeful and wistful.
Fortune watches the darkness
Intent
on the core dangling from the
Plain brown windowshade.
Golden ring shakes and shudders
Rocks in the rhythm
Sways to the sound in the shadows.
She pulls the blind against
the cool moonlight
Tries to sleep
And shut out her whispering dreams.
Rattle and squeak
The wheels of the train are full
Of forgiven wishes.
Left in the overhead compartments or
Stuffed in the ashtrays
Where snooping seatmates wouldn't
stick their well-meaning noses.
Fortune hears their forgotten cries
As she sleeps
Head bobbing against the leather seatback
--Here, this one wants a new job.
This one wants a home of his own.
She wants to be a mother.
And on and on the pleas continue
Whispering in the clatter of the wheels.
Long gone is the soul of her solitude.
Where is she now, Carrying her life in a bag On the city street? Tipping the cab driver In early evening? Fortune hears the music from her hotel window-- Drawing shining lines in the cool night air-- Echoing the fairy song In her mind.
Venture out from behind the bar
for the first time all evening.
Take advantage in the lull in cocktails
To move to the side,
polishing a glass.
Just far enough to get a better view
Of the stranger.
Men in the corners are smoking
Noise and laughter and lewd jokes
But where the candleglow warms
her face at the small table
The jazz musicians are unaccompanied.
She stares into the small cupped flame
as if witnessing the future, or
her past, or you at your watch,
Away from your duty. Oh--
Fate, fame and fortune
danced with you
When you were young, a vibrant past
But what could make you
Strong enough again
For her?
He approached me
As if he'd never seen a girl before
And offered me a drink.
He thought he was so suave
in his middle-age and his
Bartending apron.
--he reminded me
of one, that one, remember?
The boy with the soft hair
and careless eyes
Who always wanted his fortune told.
But no. Not really, at all.
I asked him what was in it,
it tasted so sweet
And he tried to tell me it was me,
That when he made it
He looked at me
Unthinking.
I went back to the hotel then.
No use trusting so easily
What I've just left behind me
--but somehow I almost believe.
I believe he said his name was Chance.
hr>
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