fortune queen of new orleans

she said home James and the car lurched away i followed not from courage no from something worse from the itch the need to hear spoken aloud what already gnawed there inside me the dark room upstairs somewhere curtains drawn stale perfume thick enough to choke on she took the money without looking at me said soon soon and left me there among the cards and bottles and the little dead noises of the place

came back laughing always laughing dancing in her long skirts before the candles touching flame to wick one by one until the room sweated yellow light music somewhere a cracked thing turning in circles she swayed to it eyes half closed stirring her brew her black concoctions muttering to them as if they answered

midnight nearing the clock dragging itself there she sat across from me spread the cards queen three jack black-eyed black-backed all of them and her voice low saying the man you love yes him secretly true to another close close to you leave now she said never come back forget my face

raven mourner eyes

nothing like the sun

returned home through streets emptied by the lateness of the hour and lay fully clothed upon the bed while the ceiling turned slowly above me in darkness, unable to sleep because her words moved ceaselessly through consciousness not as thoughts move but as fever moves, irrational and repetitive and alive, until gradually another memory detached itself from the confusion: her perfume, that thick narcotic sweetness tinged beneath with something decayed

home then the bed the sheets damp the ceiling pressing downward no sleep only her words turning over turning over like insects trapped in a glass and then the smell it came to me her perfume there in my own room impossible not impossible nothing impossible anymore

it was there

not in recollection now but in the room itself

on his pillow

in our sheets

thick narcotic sweetness tinged beneath with something decayed

dark lady of the sonnets

back through the streets again through the dark and up the stairs no sound until the door and there they were together laughing low kissing as if no one had ever died before as if no one ever would

laughing

his hand against her throat

her mouth against his

the gun in my hand

silence

them on the floor twisted among the cards and candlewax her eyes open still almost laughing perhaps the clock striking twelve at last and no more fortunes no more turning over of cards no more truths dragged blinking into the air only the room only the smell only the blackness

beauty slandered with a bastard shame