You have been at this party for a while.
The candles have collapsed on themselves,
the napkins ball like fists, and you can no
longer pretend you have somewhere else to go.
The sequins on your dress that once caught
the light have dulled over time. When did your
life become sepia? You pretend nothing has
faded, that the best is yet to come. After all,
you’ve put on your party dress, your game face,
your brave face, the one that feels like stone.
And you remember when you and everything
else sparkled, lit up in wondrous Technicolor.
Michelle Brooks has published a collection of poetry, Make Yourself Small, (Backwaters Press), and a novella, Dead Girl, Live Boy, (Storylandia Press). A native Texan, she has spent much of her adult life in Detroit, her favorite city.
Clementine Poetry Journal 