Remember when the world sparkled? How
the gods shone with polish in bygone days,
their glistening munificence shellacking
their golden, self-damned heavens, layers
of enamel glossing over the nimbus
haloing you? How light afoot you gamboled
through the iridescent drifts
of that kaleidoscopic fall? How brilliantly
you played the glockenspiel & winked
at the scherzando—& phooey! How
would you ever take a shine to me?
The “me” reflected everywhere,
from the Studebaker’s buff chrome bumpers
to the once popular stovepipe hats,
back then fashioned from silver & tin.
Against the glint of history, you stand apart,
your face inside the coin jar ever
beaming, ever radiant to this day,
untarnished by the change waxing over you
in a glimmering, shimmering heap.
From Nearing Narcoma, selected by Joy Harjo as winner
of the Main Street Rag Poetry Book Award