I Realize

My finger dances a bit
As I press the door bell,
My arms full of time-suckers
Like homemade apple pie
And more cookies than one knows what to do with.
They answer the door
Drinking red wine and eating celery
And wearing no hint of velvet—
Unlike me—
And I realize that people do not ring the doorbell at these kinds of things.
Nor do they eat cookies.

My smile is too bright, too eager
For the dim lighting and the cool piano
Which I cannot sing along too—
Which I was fully prepared to do.
I had researched
Popular party songs
And spent the time baking
Studying the rhythmic arch
Of a good Beyonce riff—
And I realize that people do not riff to Beyonce at these kinds of things.
Nor do they eat cookies.

I drink too much sparkling cider
A low calorie kind I didn’t know about
And pretend that celery is
Preferable to my grandmother’s apple pie
When I know it biologically isn’t.
I have to go to the bathroom
Like a normal person—
I thought—
So I ask the closest party participant
Where the water closet might be
For me to relieve my burning vessel
And it turns out that people do not vocalize bladder needs at these kinds of things.
Nor do they eat cookies.

I sit by myself on a couch made of
Something low-thread count,
Like I know what that means.
I stroke the velvet lining of
My too-long skirt—
Or too-short I don’t remember—
Gazing at the politely nodding
Celery-nibbling red wine-drinking
Suave non-velvet clad
Party participants
And I find that these people do not know how to party at all.
Nor do they eat cookies.

So I grab the pie with one hand
A silver fork with the other
And shovel cookies into my
Too-large purse.
I snag the single bottle of IPA
Left from someone who had
Not known the rules either.

I leave the piano and the celery
And the gross cider
And overall politeness

In search
Of a different kind of party.


2 thoughts on “I Realize

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About Josie

I run slowly through forests, eat spoonfuls of Jif's Natural creamy peanut butter, and perpetually wear a fuzzy Patagonia sweater I found for $1.50 at a charity shop in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I deal in trees, breeze, and threes. I'm not interested in being normal. I'm not looking to pass GO. I'm not looking for anything other than breathable freedom.