Legerdemain

sleight of hand
rejected and feared,
coinages and kennings,
"givers of rings" -

what must we
know of the symbol
of love, eros things?
finger metals fitted
in vows,

for true love is
never exchanged
for a dupe, my braided
gold spurs deadlier than
a timber rattler, the rowels
scintillating against the flint,
thunder and lightning striking
those who question my method,
my dowry sure as hell isn't
in cows,

let the udders spring
forth, two maidens accept
my engagement copper wheat
penny to lie in their cleavage,
the loafers weren't invented
for another century, they pack
the silo with whipping sheaves
and head for the whale's way,
when they get to the sea, they
drag fish out of the surf to
honor me,

someone somewhere
is at the loom spinning
cloth under vine and
bamboo watching the
sandlot games, violent
and bloody, but then
aren't all games? I am
at the blackjack tables
watching the sleight of
hand, an Ace levitates as
to say to me, "this is your
real card of fate," and then
the whiskey and the sagebrush
Truth in the Eight, what could it
all possibly have to do with the
color of money? Was it too high
of a price to pay? The green felt
isn't stingy today, let the chips
fall where they may, trickery
hoists up its silver-studded
belt,

I heard a girl
playing songs
on her guitar
with a seminarian's
zeal, Arabian, a hint
of Western philosophy,
her bindi dot aligned on
her forehead, took it off
for me and placed it under
shells, sleight of hand, "which
one?" she pointed. I chose
number three, she turned it
up and magically, a heishi,
that wonderful multicolored
crazy patterned bead from
the seventies, I ran it through
my leather thong, tied it around
my neck, took a hit off her water
pipe, legerdemain - sleight of hand.

Copyright 11/1/2009 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist