Kristin Lueke

 
secret elephant

like an idiot, i longed to be brilliant & beautiful
with achievements, a list crossed off.

i’ll never be so elegant as an elephant painting,
unbothered by genius, taken only by the satisfaction
of pulling a brush through pigment & curious for mess.

elephants grieve, poppies bloom like paper
& i think of california, juarez, my grandfather’s mustache
the night he danced his shoulder clean off his body
& his body said enough old man, let’s take you slowly
to the grave. let’s let your daughters duke it out.

in the hospital he held my hand, in two days said
three words—todo esta bien. it is possible to love a liar.
i have cruelty in my bones. but when the morning aspen
shadows dapple clouds across the kitchen wall,
i make two cups of tea. i like the taste of grass,
the memory of a vain old man fooling every woman
in the room, how my grandmother laughs less at god
than pageantry. she’ll take her secrets with her too.

she kept gold beneath her bed for years—
trinkets, charms, a tiny elephant
i strung on a neck-tight chain & wear
when i want you to know who i am.