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February 26, 2024

Dos Gardenias

By Alexis Rhone Fancher

Dos Gardenias

I need to tell you how days drag now
that you're gone; no phone calls or Skype.

The light is never bright or warm. No one
wants to dance. Today I emptied an old bottle

of your pills, packed it with Hindu Kush,
drove to the beach. Lit up.

It's legal now in California.

I play your favorite music; Buena Vista
Social Club, Ibrahim Ferrer.

Remember that yellow bikini you used to wear?
It made you look invincible, like a star.

I'd wear the Che Guevara cap you brought
from Cuba when we danced, girl on girl
to Dos Gardenias. Our song.

Your breasts crushing mine.
Those signature gardenias pinned in your hair.

Now I dance alone, my screen dark.
I will not weep. You'd hate it.

Since you died, I play Dos Gardenias
every day, and the way the palm trees sway
breaks my heart.

You're out there, dancing,
aren't you?

Your yellow bikini a beacon, if only I could find it
in the star-crossed night.

for Kate O'Donnell

First Published in Menacing Hedge, 2015

Article © Alexis Rhone Fancher. All rights reserved.
Published on 2019-07-29
Image(s) are public domain.
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