Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Vicky Iorio

The Day of the Dead


Bride and groom skeletons ringed with price tags greet me at the entrance to Epiphany. Skeletal cats and dogs creep around my feet.
The bright lights and incense earthquake my equilibrium. It is not immaculate sickness. Surfer guy who looks like the fiery Jesus paddled out with me.

Via Veneto

Bone chandeliers are stacked like a Fibonacci formula.
My daughter and I visit the dead monks. They are what we will become.
I hold my daughter's hand. I have seen her skeleton; years of x-rays mapping out the route of scoliosis.


My daughter sends me a picture of my grandson. He is a skeleton for Halloween.
Bleached white bones on a black background. His head is tilted back, mouth open Grand Canyon wide. He is skinny joy. I can see a bit of fire in his hair.
This Day of the Dead, I view my smoky x-ray, hold the picture of my little skeleton, refuse my bones.

 Nail Whore

I go with anyone who has a coupon
when Jimmy square cut my nails I tried to teach him
some words in English but he didn't understand the concept

Now when I'm in the chair I close my eyes
from joint to tip ten happy endings

My husband died in a grease fire
the one at Friendly's?

He was sick that day and didn't want to go in
but we needed the money    I am Joan of Arc in an SUV

Corporate is trying to blame it on him
my lawyer says I'll soon be a rich woman

And the massages
sometimes I splurge for a ten minute one
it's been a long time since anyone's touched me

© Vicki Iorio


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