was fine for the fifties,
but now there is Natalya the psychic.
Be nice to her.
Feed her, take her to bed;
whatever it takes,
because
she can pull visions from out of thin air.
She knows if you're gonna fall down the stairs,
but if she likes you, she'll take your arm,
smile like a Russian Blue,
and say, "Honey,
let's go down in the elevator."
Natalya the psychic
will know if you're faking.
Don't tell her you love her
if you're lying.
Pianos fall out of the sky every day,
and she'll send you on your way
without a blink or a word of warning
if you've been telling tales and screwing with her heart.
Love her,
fuck her sweetly on a Sunday morning
when you should be at church.
Pour the most inventive, smoldering, sincere confessions
from your lips to her ear,
as you move over her, easy, like cream over corn flakes.
Do these things and you'll have the love of a Russian Blue.
Lucky omen.
Lucky you.
_______
I wonder how many "accidental" deaths have occurred to those she's loved? and those she hadn't?
ReplyDeletenice piece!
This is a wonderful follow up to the "Liar, Liar" challenge - a timeous warning that some people should not be lied to under any circumstances.
ReplyDelete(Aside) Love Catblossom's comment over there to the right of screen..Teehee!
Yes, like Kerry, I am loving the snarky pinprick to all-consuming preoccupation with process on the sidebar.
ReplyDeleteThe poem is vintage Fireblossom, too--love is never easy, truth always comes with consequences, and reality intrudes at the most awkward moments...last lines are delicious, frosting on the cornflakes, as it were.
speaking of psychic, i was singing 'que sera, sera' as i was feeding the dogs this morning.
ReplyDelete"like cream over corn flakes."
ReplyDeleteThat's the five words that I WISH I had written today!
Ha ha ha! I cannot stop laughing. I think it's your best ever. ;)
ReplyDeleteCan I paint this on my wall?
These are my favorite sections:
"but if she likes you, she'll take your arm,
smile like a Russian Blue,
and say, 'Honey,
let's go down in the elevator.'"
"Love her, ..." from here right on down to the very last milky word.
You don't really know whether to be frightened or intrigued by her presence.
"Natalya" is the perfect name for this girl. Ironically, it means "birthday, especially the birthday of Christ." (Jesus would be so pleased.)
Check this out: http://www.sheknows.com/baby-names/name/natalya
Soul Urge Number. Ha!
I love the cat theme that runs through much of your poetry. I'm reading about Russian Blues, and I really want to touch one (I totally dig green eyes). I love silver/grey cats. But blacks are my favorites. Ooh, the Russian White must be beautiful.
Thanks for sending me off to research; I love it when poetry does that. Again, this is fantastic. And I'm still smiling.
Shay--
ReplyDelete"like cream over cornflakes" is a beautiful line. This poem is one of my favorites, but I say that too often, taking the power out of my gushing.
But I really did enjoy this.
God, I love when you get to it. Like cream over corn flakes. And fucking on Sunday morning when you could be at church? Wish I could talk Lex into that, but he's the pastor, so...! Great poem, really. Amy
ReplyDeleteAnother rich character study. The women that live in your brain should visit my door step, whiskey and milk for all. My favorite line was the part about fucking gently when you should be at church. You may hate the reference, but it reminded me of mid Tori (her best years) that song Icicle, and the line, "They are all down stairs, singing prayers, sing away, he's in my pumpkin PJs.
ReplyDeleteThis poem is bitchin. Rad, or what not apply your own hipster adjective for divine awesomeness.
What an interesting personality! And I loved the pianos falling from the sky, that was awesome...!
ReplyDeleteThanks, everyone, for such cool comments!
ReplyDeletedoesn't sound like luck has much to do with it {smile}
ReplyDelete♥