Liminial

A pause arrived, exploitation’s cessation, to the
restaurant evening. She stood, dressed to serve, like every other woman,
waiting. But, armed with her icon, from the hiding inside
pocket, ran her finger over the too soft corners of the
photo; the delicate brindling of black night against woman
white bone, skeleton burgeoning with devotion who
wore a corona’s antlers, salutation to the moon, was
singing praise ye yahs of fertile prayer, ready to
glory – the gilded promise of night ahead, of dance
at the crossroads, charged then filled, naked
with mystery. She stood out spilled in
the restaurant evening and chose belief in the
prayer for the baby that never comes. The bar
clogged with patrons, too canned from alcohol, she ran of
abstinence from the world of real problems, collapsing – misfits
infiltrated her mind and together they blew
apart the evening with a skeleton of deer
and a dancing woman’s magic.