Celeste Gainey
To a Dunhill Lighter
after Judith Vollmer
for Eugene
Luxe vessel of tiny fire
no thief will pick you from my pocket
no suave offer of a light by the gate
of Gramercy Park will hint Forget me
no HIV-bearing lover want you back
when it’s over Move on, I’ll be dead soon
I prize your smooth snap of ignition
the butane-blue flame
ricocheting from his world to mine
outlining long & manicured fingers
O, little cube of elegance
conjured from a gay boy’s make-believe
in the dry hills of Modesto
He places you in my palm
your 24-karat heft surprises
and weighs me down
He says goodbye turns away
Casablanca-style
my fingers fold & press against
your black lacquered case
When I see him again
it will be in the hush & glitter of dreams
Celeste Gainey is the author of the full-length poetry collection, the GAFFER (Arktoi Books/Red Hen Press, 2015), and the chapbook In the land of speculation & seismography (Seven Kitchens Press, 2011), runner-up for the 2010 Robin Becker Prize. The first woman to be admitted to the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees as a gaffer, she has spent many years working with light in film and architecture.
This poem is not previously published.