Lori Bellamy
May Day
A woman stabbed my husband at that party.
A glancing stab, a flabby stab, but still she spilled
his single malt almost on his coconuts. He lifted them away.
He was dressed as a palm tree, see? For the weekend,
with fronds in his hat splayed so they were dancing
round his head. For this every-year party we go to in May.
I was dressed as a parrot that May, I may
have had feathers, I did have a beak for the party.
Picture a palm tree and parrot in purple tights dancing.
His three coconuts tied round his neck so they spilled
bodaciously. Those coconuts thrilled him all weekend.
The lady dressed as Mata Hari? The stabber? She got away.
After the stabbing, Mata Hari stashed her weapon and got away.
The rest of us stayed in the kitchen to celebrate May,
which is the reason, the occasion for the weekend.
Our castle dwelling friend with the millionaire teeth throws a party
every May to celebrate how spring has spilled
to summer, with all the world and every creature dancing.
Velvet sofas slid away from glossy floors for dancing.
Platters of exotic morsels brought from far away.
The wide armed view, the bluff, the star spilled
sky. Music, singing, esoteric tipples, this is how we usher in the May.
It would have been today. Today is the day of the party.
I’d be practicing pre-emptive self-care to prepare for the weekend.
This weekend we’re protecting friends with weakened
immune systems. Keeping our droplets from dancing
into unprotected faces. The castle with its empty spaces. A party
of one. The good part is no stabbing, no sickness when we’re away
from one another. And look, the actual May
arrives. Birds fill the trees, the ground is flower spilled.
The grass is filled with green from all the rain that’s spilled.
I think back to January which was another weekend
party. The one in March was cancelled, just like the one in May.
But it’s okay. The air outside is dancing,
it’s wet, it’s clean with rain. It takes away
the quiet night. A raucous rooftop raindrop party.
May still spills her blossoms
in a party for the trees. Weekends
of dancing leaves, with all the people safely locked away.
—Submitted on 08/14/2020
Lori Bellamy is a math tutor living in Seattle.
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