i am somehow invited to the famous poet’s house / at the door i air-kiss her on the cheek and say thank you and she rushes off / i instantly go into the back where i help stir the stew / i don’t really want to talk anyway / when i do interact i make cat noises and pretend to follow conversations / young poets with shiny shoes know me but don’t really make any effort / so i am stirring the stew on the porch and see people paddling down the river / smiling people on sups on crew boats with coxswains yelling directions right right don’t hit the buoy / a duo of men in wetsuit loincloths on a paddleboard / why aren’t they cold? / at some point everyone is drinking wine / the hostess says we only have one bottle of red left we have killed all the white / i miss my family but there are only adults here / i decide to not ask to bring them in for the fear of being denied / but i feel guilty / my husband and daughter walk in / where is my wife and son? / i introduce my husband to the poetess but my daughter will not make eye contact and her eyes are made of black porcelain / the poetess is dismayed / i try to find her later / she thunders down the stairs saying the child will have to leave / and scott / don’t ever bring her back here / i ask is it because my daughter hates it here / she nods / my wife and daughter leave waiting for me in the car / i am holding an empty wine glass / did i forget i don’t drink? / on my way out i notice there are more children than adults now sitting at toddler tables drinking juice boxes and drawing amoebas with red crayon / i think how unfair my daughter was told to leave / i exit silently make a cat face with my hands to the handsome man who recognizes me / go out into the flood / my family is asleep and the car is an orange boat / a storm is coming
Scott Ferry writes things. He is a RN in the Seattle area. His latest books are The Long Blade of Days Ahead and Midnight Glossolalia (with Lillian Necakov and Lauren Scharhag). More of his work can be found at ferrypoetry.com.
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