Orchids after Midnight

What does a lone soul do in a luxury hotel

on the 25th floor

Room 2514

overlooking the spires of St. Patrick’s

with the clock on the strokes of midnight

the night sky lit up in fiery blues

and whites

and streaks of glowing red streams

as unseen archangels

exit penthouse balcony windows

through the pores of Heaven.

Their fiery wings touch me as they heave by

sighing; entranced by the night in New York

humanity as always

their unsaid desire

and equal disgust.

One of them kisses me

as he passes;

he kisses me on my forehead

a wing brushing my cheek

as I reach my fingers through

his dark blank eye sockets;

as I reach

trying to feel his soul

trying to kiss his soul

which he’s erased.

I wasn’t supposed to be here alone.

Not after I tasted your soul

Not after I laid mine

into your possession

Not after you claimed me

Not after you said that

I was yours

Shrugging, you say that

“you’re not a spiritual being”

and that

Heaven means nothing to you

and neither will you to me ultimately

and with a fiery molten scowl

you flicked your wings closed

and left the Heavens.

And the sky goes dark

Not being believed in

Not being wanted on the 25th floor

in Room 2514.

Room 2514

a random group of numbers

added together

with a price tag you wouldn’t pay.

The price was

Keep your feelings out and on display

AND

Test that theory that

You are not a Spiritual Being

that cried out for union

with that part of you that

you either detest or are afraid of.

I open the door to Room 2514 and

Slide into the elevator whose mirrors

reflect the world

after midnight..

hollow/magnified;

the silence

about to break

into a thunder clap

but hasn’t

or won’t

or will…

with no warning

and

just suddenly

all 39 floors

will become a pile of rubble.

Jagged peaks of lightning

have left traces from past storms.

The clock that is not here

has stopped ticking.

Past midnight

there is no grief; no ecstasy.

After midnight.

Grief and ecstasy have passed (or are trying to pass quietly)

rather than

writhing in agony on the floor (a dark demon to be exorcized.)

“Be quiet! Be quiet!”

orchids after midnight are commanding Silently

Standing against the wall

in the lacquered box.

they have been

potted and kissed

and cosseted

into a serene state of existence

white

cool

velvety soft

expensive

protected

valued

…and are not thinking or weeping about tomorrow

or about what was given and

promised and/or

what might have been.

Silent, these orchids are

so much a picture of

so I take a picture of them

I take a picture of

myself

as I was

white

cool

velvety soft

expensive

protected

valued

lush

Here

Here Now

Here now alone

There is no one here

to take

a picture of

myself alone

so

I take a picture of my self

a picture of

orchids

after midnight (after)

after the non-believing archangel

has left the sky

has left the night

has left a hole in the sky

has closed his wings

and cannot see my tears.

I am the orchids after midnight.

So I take a picture of myself

before I die and disappear

in my grief no hole in the sky

only one hole

in the lacquer box

where one orchid after midnight

has disappeared into the ground