N.M. Kelby is the author of White Truffles in Winter: A Novel, Travel Guide for Reckless Hearts, Whale Season, In the Company of Angels, Theater of the Stars and The Constant Art of Being a Writer: The Life, Art & Business of Fiction. As we make our way toward Valentine’s Day, here’s her poem “The Honeymoon.”
The asphalt is lava.
We lie around on single beds with blue light TV tans.
The curtains are pulled. We are watching a game show.
Bob Barker is beautiful, frightening.
He is our prophet.
The motor court is as lovely as it should be.
There is a housewife who wants door number 3.
We are feeling gracious as she wins the fur coat,
It is something we do not need.
Our past is before us.
The wedding gown, anemic,
A peacock gone pale,
Is hanging in the closet.
Even now, it gathers dust.
Black patent shoes, like crows, hungry,
Are as ambiguous as any still life.
We do not care.
It is done. Finally done.
The future sleeps, fitful as a child.
We are too old for more than the current moment.
We flash our smiles, our pina colada smiles.
The ice machine spits forth water diamonds.
We have it all now.
It’s all behind the curtain.
- “The Honeymoon” by N.M. Kelby, reprinted here with permission from the author.