Mardi Gras 2020.
Louisiana announced its first confirmed case of the novel coronavirus on March 9.
Two weeks later, the state reported 2,305 positive tests and 83 deaths from the virus.
Before
they led us astray and into the crowds
strolling our children half-asleep, dreams abuzz
with sugar-beats in rhythm
to our favorite marching bands
we stretched our arms, hoping to catch
blinking beads as we danced
with strangers who are never really strangers if only
in this moment
in this town
a crescent of so much laissez faire.
We drove around the remnants of the last devastation
parts still windswept and water-logged. Stopping along the tracks,
windows rolled down, hoisting a go-cup full
of giddy and one-liners from our days
as young editors, far-flung stringers, stylists and cooks,
we leaned deep into the train whistle.
We gathered for an early dinner at Thalia, our favorite neighborhood joint,
your gorgeous blond locks loose as we sipped and talked
mocktails and Mexican retreats while our dinner dates
spoke of past wars and new chapters; we always order
rice and beans here, with cured egg yolk shaved just so
and small plates with dashes of salt
a few petals here and there, an offering from the chef
to the muses.
On the last day of Before, we meet at the oyster bar, elbow-to-elbow
clinking glasses. You unstrap the vintage watch from your wrist,
place it on mine, a present to celebrate a future
birthday, an anniversary of our friendship, a memory of all the touching
possible that came before.
After speeds up on us as we rewind
searching for that moment/s when we, too, could have been
infected…Was it when the server leaned in to tell us,
like a juicy secret, how the catch of the day is served
with dirty rice and not to miss the oysters from Murder Point?
Was it when we spent the evening
sharing spiked king cake and Chablis, after walking arm-in-arm
in the late afternoon sunshine, not realizing
that on this end February 2020
with clear skies above and whole evenings ahead
nothing would ever be the same again?
Even on the airplane, after, no one wore a mask
no one thought to not sit close
as we slipped into sleep, sliced through the sky
crossing open borders.
How vast a sea between demur and demure.
Language, this heavy constellation
of dissent. A shining blister, sometimes a blessing.
Tell me, how do we cross the finish line
with finesse and a heart intact
after all this broken-down beauty.
A fistful of words and wild berries.
All the You (s) and We (s),
gale forces in the last days of (our) Before.
Tomorrow stains our mouths goodbye-blue.