As If Confusion Were Part of It
She said she was tired of waiting, 84 years in a line
only she is standing in. She said there was beauty,
but not enough to be the point, like a distraction.
I remember standing in line by the river to be baptized.
The heat had soaked our clothes. There was singing
and honey locusts perfuming the riverbank. And flies,
oh the flies that stuck to our skin and our damp hair.
They lowered me into the water. I opened my eyes,
and it was all a green smear, and it stung.
She told me she once found a ring in the basement
of a Dillard’s, silver with a lone oval diamond,
and it glowed on the ground underneath a rack of dresses.
No, that can’t be, there was no basement. She said
she keeps waiting, and she isn’t sure if she should
move on herself or if someone will come get her.
She turned to look at me: One time, I was baptized
in a river. The water was like quick glass,
and I could see my toes as they went under,
then my skinny knees, my legs were so skinny then,
then the fringe on my Sunday dress, waving,
all waving to me as I dipped beneath the surface.