Thirteen wants a whole floor to herself
not to be avoided by skyscrapers
(she is not simply
a place to store cleaning products
and a floor for extra linens.)
She is not a placeholder—
she is the place
and the held.
She is to be beheld and is beholden to nothing but beauty.
She wants the good champagne
the pop the sizzle the flurry the chuckle
the gurgle the staccato ascension of pitches in a flute being filled
with a flight of bubbles that leads
to somebody’s tongue
not another broken promise
nor an empty prophecy from some mortal with a god-complex
Thirteen doesn’t want her first guest to be annoying
nor her first phone call to be from a bill collector.
She wants the wettest kisses
and the most deliberate touches
Again, this time: deeper
and in circular motions.
Thirteen wants to be touched with verve.
She has given away everything and the nothing that is left will be filled with light.
Thirteen realizes that age is not a resignation
that joy is always an option
that a smile is just a mouth’s turn away
that there will always be another everything
that laughter photographs well
that silence is the possibility of all music
perhaps Thirteen will recline for a while
swaddled in last year’s blanket
but crisp air will envigorate her
as soon as she opens the door
to check for mail
and she’ll be alive
~ Vince Wilson @invincewil
foto: thirteen birds by James Bo Insogna