The Big Day

by Christopher Salerno

I hold a pile of shaving cream
no one else has held. The words
dissolve in water. Never mind
I'm in a tuxedo. I have no idea
what I'm doing. I drank a vial of
something black. Tea, I think.
I once smelled a tangerine blossom
from the other side of the world.
It must be bright there, all the fruit
cut into stars. Beekeepers standing
in a blizzard of bees. Somebody
weave me a veil like that. I, too,
want to try in the sun. I'm not a tree,
saying certain words, but there's a ton
of light to the east that I need.
And you, there, wearing your white—
sorry I'm so fast. This fever I talk about
is entire. With it I am tying my
formal tie. Haven't you wanted
to be someone else? It's the closest
we come to leaving.

issue 1, workSean Redmondpoetry