The Colonnade

I felt like I belonged to another skull,
to one that was draped in a bob and waves,
and all the things I envied in other women,

and I wanted mint juleps,
and drinks I would never have under normal circumstances,
because I was convinced they would make me a better writer,
or at least a more interesting one,

and I wanted to wear dresses that I thought had been burned,
or that lay dormant in a closet unbeknownst to me,
likely in a small town in Savannah,
behind a door that hadn't been opened for decades,
if not more,

and I knew I would lose friends for it,
no one wanted to befriend a nostalgist,

it never got them anywhere,
which was understandable,

but shortsighted,
and thin skinned,
and weak constitutioned---

and that wasn't even a word---
and I needed another drink,

maybe the Oldest Living Confederate Widow,
only readied on Division,
in the back straights of Wicker Park---