LEVI AND JEAN


The handsome cowgirl tipped her black Charlie 1 Horse hat;
"Howdy ma'am, I'm Levi.  Is this lop-sided barstool taken?"

She could feel her C & W heart, for some reason was breaking apart.

"Hea, lonesome cowgirl strayin.'
I'll shoot down a shot if you're payin,"
this lesbian rodeo cowgirl replied in eight seconds.
"But if you're thinkin' we're gonna make love
in a cozy bunk, then you're very confused."

"Naw, I'm not confused.  Just horse-saddle sore
an' cow-hoof bruised."

"And just what kind of cowpoke name is Levi
may I ask?"
the sassy cowgirl ribbed, chuggin' beer from a yard
flask.

The come-to-town-once-a-month cowgirl remained calm,
just burnished a callous and rubbed her rope-burned
palm.

Many antique wringer washings
before,
she'd been teasingly asked about the
shrink-to-fit 501 button fly, cowgirl-cut
Levi blue jean name she
wore.

Now she wasn't about to rivet her pocket with a
fib,
but she wasn't entitled to know.
Her name Levi was decided from early on,
in a foster ranch house
crib.

As quiet as a Custer County
mouse,
her unknown mother gave birth
to her in a country
bunkhouse.

A rancher and his infertile wife came in to
clean,
saw their new miracle baby wrapped up
inside the faded denim leg of a Levi
jean.

A silver horseshoe locket and a burlap
birth tag hung from her tiny toe.
"This buckarette is up for country
adoption,
I'm sorry God, cuz I have no other
option."

"And I s'pose Wrangler is the name of
your no-competition cow pony," sassed the
buckarette,
as Levi rolled smoke from her Bull-Durham
cigarette.

"Naw, my horse's name is Denim, Wrangler is my
Jeep."

Levi pulled a jukebox quarter from her double-stitched
pocket,
noticed she was lookin' at a picture in her silver-heart
locket.

"Twitty's gone; why'd ya have to pick that remindful
'Tight-fittin' Jeans'
song?
Can't ya see, somethin's
wrong?"

"Yep, I've finished this whiskey
drink,
tell ya what I think.
It's not that I think you've always been
sassy an' conceited,
but I think you've somehow been recently
cheated."

"My mama recently died,
told me she had
lied.
Said she named me Jean in the early
fall,
but I wasn't born to her at
all.
Found me stuffed inside the leg of a
pair of Levi jeans, sittin' on a country church
pew,
along with this birth
clue.
A burlap tag and this heart locket, hung from
my tiny toe.
"This buckarette is up for country
adoption.
Like I had to to with her sister,
twice, I'm sorry God, cuz I still have no other
option."

As quiet as a Custer County
mouse,
her unknown mother gave birth
to her in a country church
house.

"This picture in the locket is my real
mother,
don't know anything 'bout my real sister
other."

Levi got an instant lump in her throat.
Pulled her keepsake baby toe tag and horseshoe
locket
from the inside of her cowgirl duster coat
pocket.

A sister and a sister cut from the same
Levi brand.

She showed her the same orphan
souvenir,
their blue new-found sibling eyes started to tear.


 Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist