"Chandeleur Bay" by JC Alfier

Chandeleur Bay

Mornings she wakes to the ceiling fan
stitching shadows to daylight,
fixing her gaze on crows and sparrows
that spiral in winds
that lift their dusty wings,
thinks on her daughter
who crushes on a boy
she doesn’t give a damn to abide.

She’s a maid, reduced to part-time
at a failing motel. Goes about her duties
with the stolid air of a pallbearer,
a bra strap drooping
from one shoulder like a sleeping child.

On the route to work in fading soles,
she stops at a laundromat
to find quarters under washers
that should sure as hell take EBT cards by now.

After shift, at The Blind Tiger bar,
a/c snow-cold on her face,
she waits for a refill
from the languid barkeep.
Licks the sweat off her empty glass,
watches the waxing moon slide
across the bay.
She will leave without paying,
her blueberry lipstick
saying how sweet darkness can be.

JC Alfier

JC Alfier’s (they/them) most recent book of poetry, The Shadow Field, was published by Louisiana Literature Press (2020). Journal credits include The Emerson Review, Faultline, New York Quarterly, Notre Dame Review, Penn Review, Southern Poetry Review, and Vassar Review. They are also an artist doing collage and double-exposure work.

Headshot: Juliette Alfier

Photo Credit: Staff