Quelly Looks up From the Ground
I know for a fact Quelly was an artist for she carried paper bags
around with little jars of paint she’d stolen.
This was in case anyone asked “Are you an artist” but no one ever did.
The waitress lives in a room above a garage
She places fruit on the sill for sun sweet warmth
She imagines she’s a guest in a room in a castle but she is not
Every night she visits the mortuary to see her future
Days she sells crescent rolls shaped like
crescent moons shaped like
crescent cats curled up
in her imaginary arm
Isn’t there some applause for her lonely life?
Some days she’s busy with anatomies wearing people
Some days she’s idle with their trappings
She watches the clock
And then the clock watches her
I would defend her if I could but she drinks from her own
Cup of blueberry tea. She calls from the window Help!
Copyright © 2019 Grace Cavalieri. This poem originally appeared in in Lips Poetry Magazine, 2019. Reprinted with permission of the author.