Dusty moon hangs grandmother’s earring.
Blindly she chewed on ivory to see if it was gold
while I stroked her clouded eyebrows
that night in North Troy when seasoned reasons changed.
This the same time when the construction crane pulled me out of rubble-
and maybe it was marrow not ivory or gold.
Today, Colonel Capital, my birthday dress has turned to ash
and your sugarcane discipline is very much obliged.
Soaked in the sidewalk of your underbelly-
I wanted to tell you about the time that I walked
my index and middle fingers along the mountain ridge,
and then down and tumble down and
right up to your edifice, my dear it’s not
that I don’t want to participate,
but no one here knows chérie or why she shudders
or that precious means another thing.
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