Baby Shower, This Way to Basement

To love her
Is to be pushed aside
When her art possesses her
She wears three rings on each hand
None of them
A promise to her baby daddy

She dreams and so discovers
Traversing the wicker chair’s seat, beetle-backed
Roaches roaming the lattice of twigs
Her eyes flicker hot, a frenzied weave ensues
A steady, dull buzz growls in her throat
The unborn child yanks the back of her tongue
Ringing her mouth open, a dry heave

Her baby’s father must return the party prop
Demand their money back in coins, quick
She will paint one of the living room chairs
As an offering, turquoise
To cool the baby’s hot spirit
White painted plumes to temper the flames.

To love her
Is to be pushed aside
When her art possesses her
She wears three gold bands on her ring finger
None of them
Promised to her baby daddy

Baby Shower, This Way to Basement

He returns with the coins
He knows to put them aside for her
(She will insist on displaying them
haphazardly at the foot of the chair)
But he does not anticipate this
Apparent upheaval of color
She is in her blurred visions
It is useless to engage her

To love her
Is to be pushed aside
When art confesses her.

At the center of the tableau
Erzulie winks at him, a cross heart
Turning the turquoise paint green
Soon the entire tableau will veer rose
He will be outnumbered by a house of spirited
Women
To love