The Proposal

The Proposal

Joe Burns puts his arm 

around my shoulder and he says marry me?

Inside my head an argument begins as if there 

were two of me, one eager to say yes, the other no.

Yes, oh yes, yes, yes to becoming a Burns, 

to being his mother’s daughter, 

his sister’s sister--the most popular girl in the universe--

whose starlights gloss my ugliness, my poverty, 

my many sins, let me walk in their beauty under 

Their very own personal sunny skies.

Joe seems to hold a mirror to my face and there 

They are--his sister, his mother, lovely and perfect

In their floral fabrics and he is saying,This could be you! 

The path from dark to bright, from clumsy, messy

To breezy softness, to sunny glowing order.

I see a wicker chair, a woman with an armful of flowers

who looks like me trying to make the flowers

Fit nicely into the vase, but the task is too complex,

the flowers bend, fall, scatter, she begins to cry. 

She is lost in this flower wicker sunroom, not being from there, 

she is a pantomime, does not fit into this air.

So when Joe’s lips move toward mine, I turn my head, 

And he stands up and walks away

And it’s like an elevator door has closed on me.