A comedian came into my night mind
when I’d traveled too much and didn’t bring my pillow.
She’s big, and because she doesn’t always fit the world,
a designer makes her clothes. I know the dresses,
cotton and all the same cut, and in particular the one
the color of old sunshine scattered with black L’s
for no discernible reason—no one’s initial—the one
she lifted at the right knee when she gazed down at me
from the chair, and it was made known that I knew
what was needed for the element of surprise, whereupon
I tilted my head and moved and she knighted me,
of sorts, the crisp sharp hem brushing my neck,
the air softening, me frightened to inhale for drowning.
I’m big, too. That dress would look good on me.
He needed my help. I’d already stopped my car.
His was the colors of the label on the Pepsi bottle
left in a yard by an unlicensed landscaper,
or a dirty picture of clouds. He had hair.
Could have been any age. I didn’t look closely enough
at his eyes to think of sherry. As I lifted my hood
I thought: Black for ground, red for go.
But what if he attaches the cables to me?
What if he drains me, or my car, and leaves me
in the land of the dead, called home, atop Emily?
I didn’t trust him, but I stayed, trained to comply.
When he was done with me, when his power returned,
he lingered, so I fled. In her alabaster white,
Emily stayed bone-quiet, stayed safe.
Linda, let us sprint back over the hills of our dreams,
voices again strong, knees and freedom flexing.
We’ll skirt the festival field, slip behind the stage,
unmolested, to watch the skinny drunk boys
watch the singer. No one names a daughter Judy anymore,
or Janis. Or Linda—played for laughs now, but once
the golden name of every second or third girl in third grade.
Let us braid the hair of Barbara and Cindy, share
lip gloss and rolling papers. Let us all roll
our real selves through every cramp and bad trip,
with the wisdom we have now—Mary Jo, Mary Pat,
Debra, poor Karen, Susan—and those soft bodies
we somehow never broke. Let us reclaim our names.
Linda, for one, means beautiful.
