Life of the Party

Lyndi Larsen

You disappeared into a sea
of cheap black suits and cocktail dresses.
I dove in after you,
swimming through the cold people
and their deep cups.
Your bland brown suit floated ahead of me;
I called out
but your name was swallowed
by the rapid crashing conversations
that washed over me, threatening to pull me under.

Suddenly, you turned toward
me, you saw
me, in that blue-black dress that shimmers
down my body like a waterfall;
me, in all my shifting sadness,
with proud posture and darting eyes;
me, with my ice cold charm, whiskey
breath and smeared mascara.

You smiled and I sank back into the crowd.

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