Dancing Dresses

Shivering in a jacket much too thin

for this night of sleet and freezing rain

She wanders in mad dog attack darkness

feeling for the strength to step one

more feeble step, knowing panic

well enough to call it by its first name

She had felt the approaching void

screamed to God, but his cell was

out of minutes, as many times before

Insanity rode her like a jockey

who was hell-bent-for-leather

Given a treasured bus pass, she rode

the streets of Nowhere and End-of-the-line

Had to find a place to sleep

Had to hide away

Safe place, no rapes tonight

At a familiar stop she descends

the steps of her mobile champion

Home called her

Home was there

just up the street

before the trees

Pausing on the sidewalk she watched

the Dale Kincaid lights in her home -

that was hers no more

She chose him, married him, so

tough luck, baby

you're screwed now

February

Ice Storm

Incredibly cold

Stumbling into the grocery store

parking lot, she sees the wink of

a Goodwill donation truck

Under it are parcels and pieces

like presents under a Christmas tree

Needles sewed the ice pellets to

cheeks as hollow as yellow eggs

sucked out to make beautiful art

Jacket no warmer than a shirt

Last place she stayed, they stole

her coat and put her out at 3:00 A.M.

Threw her into the night rain

Sleep sucked her at the way a baby

sucks at the teat where warm milk is

A little mouse

afraid of cops

who ask her

where she's going

They know damn good and well she

isn't going anywhere she hasn't

already been, but wherever she is

they don't want her there

Ducking beneath the Goodwill truck

she sees bags and wonders if a warm

coat might be crouching there, waiting

Won't do to dig, cops roust you for that

In one brave swoop she picks up a

little suitcase, as forlorn as herself

Scurrying away, rat-like

smelling her sour fear

she heads for the urban woods

Just past home

that is not home

dragging the bulk of an old refrigerator

carton by the string around it,

she feels the burden

blow up and knock her in the knees

Not young

Not well

Not sane

F*cked up

The trees welcome her

They twinkle like stars in the sleet

Fever grips her like an avid lover

Got to go in far enough no one sees

Brittle brush fingers grab at her

Hidden hazards laugh if she falls

But the suitcase is a comforting

weight

Finds a fallen log, a hollow by it

Lines the refuge with cardboard

Trembling like a virgin lover

she opens the suitcase and there is no coat

There are dresses

Sparkling dresses

Cocktail dresses

Stiff

unyielding dresses

Alive with sequins and tulle

that pulls itself out of her swollen

fingers

Jackie Kennedy dresses

Rich woman's baubles, but no coat

Freezing rain coats her hair

Cools her fevered cheeks

Leg infected where he shot her

yellow pus running down her leg,

gluing her pants to flesh

Pulling the fabric away tears skin too

Half the dresses make a pallet

Half the dresses make a slippery

covering, sequins sliding

That suitcase, Judas, liar

serves as a tent when put upside down

over the log and some brush

Keeps the worst out of her eyes

It would be logical that she die by morning

but she never seemed to have a bit of luck