Temporary Obituary
Lauren Marie Cappello
When I died alone
beside a pale dogwood blossom
the carnival momentum kept spinning
in the glistening distance,
& the carnival landscape made mockery
of a tree with no way of knowing; the
tocsin jangle of a penny arcade with no small
beauty or small change, no modest offering came,
the story was this—
No, not me, no, lighting another cigarette &
humming slow— i’ll tell you of the carnival:
& by carnival i mean tree, and by tree
i mean Vieux Carré at pastel sunset,
or the sinuous phrase “in love”.
No, no one saw my break from the
crowd, the daggers, darts, skewers, arrows—
& curl into a lightless bloom.
Now everybody thinks it doubtful,
or so they gather— eavesdropped
poems, the evening paper,
a map— pre-made, than rather a
geography One wouldn’t mention,
but ne’er a flower.
& since i’ve been bathing
in rain, the balloon-like clouds
close their eyes to me. It just
might have been possible.
Lauren Marie Cappello has traded in the glitter of New Orleans for homesteading in Northern California. She has work in E·ratio 15, 16 and 19.
