Mea Conley

From the Column

Just a Moment

Poetry

When I was a Bullfighter

When I was a bullfighter I

Waved my red cape

Back and forth like a

Rippling sun.

You were kicking up dust and

Hollering like mad.

I couldn’t stop you.

Dust coated your bones and

Etched out maps of sinew and

Left you afraid of -

What, exactly?

Ivory silence against egg shell white

Backdrops finds us

Neutral ground where we can

Finally talk,

Matador to

Craven beast.

But I sit across from an empty chair,

In a crowded restaurant.

Cigarette smoke hangs like dread,

And I realize maybe

I was never a bullfighter

After all.