it wasn't about
faith,

it wasn't about
sex,

it was about
congruence,

and I know
you don't treasure
that light until that light
goes out, and so one day
the idea stuck like a tick in
a dog's ear, Peyton Place was
where I met Barbara Parkins, and
Playboy was where I met her nipples,

a banded
ferruginous
hawk had just
been released from
rehabilitation with a broken
wing,

a bighorn sheep had
just been transplanted,

a lunar eclipse
watched over us -
we're not the only
ones who watch,

a vial of gold,
a medicine bottle
of mercury, and a
copper wheat penny
to be polished for a new
pair of penny loafers quick
with soles dashed away from
gossip,

authenticity
stirred the pot
of clam chowder,

and when the
electricity went out?

candles were lit and
we sat quietly reflecting
what it wasn't about.

Copyright 4.16.2010 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist