Sequinned

for S.J. in the city &-Marsha Stands

Don't tell me you couldn't reach down pick up
the whole gleaming garment and wear it
to fancy shawl dance back home. Dancing proud
in a twenty-four-dollar trinket city

all laid out
shimmering and shining on jet black world
traffic lights, street lamps, hot neons, cool fluorescents.

Headlights
swim freeways electric

minnows, glittering eyelets on bridges
bridges lacing up New York and Newark, separate
sides of a sequinned vest. Borough lights trace out
webbed wing

butterfly designs, no wasps-mosquitoes even.
Something ready to fly off the whole metro stretch.
Some cousin calling:
Girl, leave your French brains tight cause
Cut Nose is goin' ta have it out with you
over snagging her sometimes half-side last night.
She wants to take your prize and crown
from Red Nations Pow Wow
Her eyes painted sharp red at the corners,
red as the landing light
on this plane's wing tip.
Her plume high and straight, the Empire State,
while yours falls
gently over your part. But that vest-
red, green, gold, silver sparkles,
no one sPACE got more brilliance.
More elegant than bugle beads and embroidery
more stunning than satin and silk.

Girl, don't you let that city get away.
Lift it up, raise it, slip your arms through
and take it back to dance.