It's winter. On foot, we are going some-
where. I wear fishnet, a miniskirt of
leather. We wear all black, all of us.
Laughing, up the icy road we claw
in our tall boots, in our long coats, in our
prime. My boots don't have enough tread. Our way
is steep. A biker-jacketed boy lifts me to
his back. He is bearded, jangles with each step, the
chains dangling off him everywhere. Bottom
is a pleasant place to be, we transcend
our world's comparisons, dart downward.
My fishnet are ripped, it's okay, we're there
in coats with shredded lining, at
a place where we are all fabulous. The
boys wear eyeliner, here at the hub
of my youth. I feel strangely tucked in, of
them, comfortable. The memory, the
moment, framed by snowfall, will never drain
from me. It's in a snowglobe. We are we,
and it's easy for once. Step back; flakes swirl.
This is a golden shovel using lines from Diane Seuss' “I Went Downtown and Went Down,” from Four-Legged Girl.
