When the Moon Belonged to the White Rabbit, Xiao Faria da Cunha, 2022. Watercolor on paper. 15 x 22 in.
WHY I REMAIN A DESPERATE PARTY CLOWN AT DEATH’S BIRTHDAY
LeAnne Hunt
Death comes with bright banners
and beating its war drums
loud outside my window,
shouting “Be a patriot and join the band,
march alongside us! You know
you want to!”
I grab my kazoo and rubber nose
but trip over the cat
who then must be picked up
and cuddled into purring. By the time
she forgives me into grooming my arms,
the parade has passed beyond.
I am left with confetti on my shoes
and one deflated balloon.
Death parallel parks in front of the house,
honking its horn and yelling,
“We needed to leave 10 minutes ago!”
I’m still in my pajamas but rush to rummage
through couch cushions for the two coins
I’ll need for the ride.
I am always late like that, missing
my wake-up call, confusing sleep with a wake.
Dollar late and day short
as time rolls on down the street with me
flapping my arms behind.
Death calls me up out of the blue,
wanting to shoot the breeze,
but I say my hands are too shaky
for aiming, and the wind always blows
my hair in my eyes.
My daughter reminds me
that “always” is always an exaggeration,
offers to show me how to hold steady
in a hurricane, how to shoot straight
to the heart of the matter. She says
she’s been practicing and takes the phone,
but the call drops and leaves us
hanging on.
LeAnne Hunt (she/her) is a Pushcart-nominated poet. She was a regular at the Two Idiots Peddling Poetry reading at the Ugly Mug in Orange, CA, before moving to the Mississippi Coast. She proofreads manuscripts for Moon Tide Press and has poems published in Cultural Weekly, Spillway, Honey & Lime, Hybrid Harpy Review and Lullaby of Teeth: An Anthology of Southern California Poets. She publishes a blog of writing prompts and apologies at leannehunt.com.