by Ann Privateer
To the Elbows in Rainbow Frosting, I Relive my First Birthday, I Might Be Alive, Be Alive, Be Alive
Narcissist—it is three days before
my thirty-seventh birthday. My first
during the pandemic. The country starves
and I dream of cake.
I write a short story about a woman who thinks about death
all the time. She imagines the ceiling fan flying
off. She watches all the missteps
of a man walking on a sidewalk—
outside. Masked up. Dog leash.
Maintain at least six feet. I go
to the supermarket and purchase the optimal single-serving
cake in the shape of a unicorn.
I imagine myself putting on a lavender party-dress. The glitter
exacts vengeance on the living-room furniture.
Impractical monster—I place birds in my hair and cry
for pink icing.
*
All day I wonder if I have already died.
I think there must be a name for this illness where people imagine themselves as ambling
shades—dead through this world. I refuse
to google it. I enjoy not knowing, for once.
I think about driving into a grey storm
on the most inclement road. I imagine every road from my twenties
and rapidly
disappearing thirties in a montage with “I Misunderstood” behind it. I think
the only way that we could
have ended up in this fraught political situation is if I caused it.
A gaslight lights
I bake in the August heat. I add Rumor and Sigh
to my 2020 Playlist on Spotify. Then I add Blue Sky
Mining from Midnight Oil. I imagine
myself as a young girl
staring at the ceiling from the stained living room carpet, trying to mimic
Peter Garrett, Richard Thompson, Neil Young, Michael Stipe.
*
When I was a child, my mother baked
wedding cakes—an operation of one
from our home kitchen—a heavy container
of always-cold buttercream.
Out of the oven and into the freeze. Then sliced
—sidelong—the long knife like a glance—top gone.
Anything to reduce the crumb.
My small hands would pilfer sliced bits.
I would steadily balance
the iced creation on my knee—careful—
I learned how to maintain an evenness that would
leave my personality pliant in the years to come.
Still—even as objects moved around me
came to a stop—a small raise and hold. Drop only
after the acceleration was in half-force.
Somewhere between second and third gear.
Sometimes only motion can negate motion.
Each cake lulled—pull the scraps
when you can—
Dear—that delicate final product is for a woman
who starves herself months in advance.
*
I lose the story about the death-obsessed woman
in one of the file folders littering my computer screen.
Before I go to the store, I drive up a nearby hill.
I haven’t left the house in days, and my car needs love. I recoil
at the burnt-butter taste of a coffee handed to me
from a plastic container held by a gloved worker through a drive-thru window.
I touch my own arm. The bright heat enfolds my little blue car.
Flying mother nature’s silver seed to a new home.
The sun is back at home on a work call.
*
I have tried starving for days
months, years. But I think maybe some women never quite get small
enough. I wash my hands the recommended number of seconds.
Three for my heart
ache. Four for my headache. I know
it’s art for art’s-sake. I can’t take my hands from my face. Rain
in the valley below. I’m not sure all these people understand.
I dry my hands side by side in orbit; they pine for
a kaleidoscopic moon.
Now. I am ready.
Being the house expert
in the transportation of cake, I will
carefully pull the cake from the fridge.
Plant one speckled candle. Light it
ablaze. Breathe myself a song.
Delve my arms to the elbows, and I will
paint myself into the sky.
[This piece samples: Neil Young “After the Gold Rush” / Violent Femmes “Kiss Off” / Richard Thompson “Backlash Love Affair” / Midnight Oil “King of the Mountain” / R.E.M. “Nightswimming”]
Kari Flickinger’s writing has been nominated for Best of the Net and the SFPA Rhysling Award. She is an alumna of UC Berkeley. Find her recent work: kariflickinger.com @kariflickinger
Ann Privateer is a poet, artist, and photographer. She paints out of doors with watercolorists on Wednesdays and with oils at home. Some of her work has appeared in Third Wednesday and Entering to name a few.