NYU Black Renaissance Noire Spring 2015 - Page 90

By CATHERINE BOWMAN Ditto Exit breath, enter potato salad. Enter blueberry sky — a froth of cream-whipped clouds. Exit: Happy Independence Day! All day Mr. Magnificent and His Reptiles on the AM dial. Meanwhile master apple and cherry trees bless us, begetters of fireworks, fill us full-spectrum. List my children with gregarious snort-song marching quick-time in the parade: fifteen couples do it doggie style in quick-time, suck each other synchronized and ditto and ditto and the whistle blows, roman candles explode, chrysanthemums, big colorful beach balls at the summer share back and forth, forth and back, the crack and slurp of clams on the half shell, the ball slaps into the catcher’s mitt, the crowd goes wild, screams his name over and over yes and yes. Pong ping and ping pong repeat and send it back, contagious fire after fire repeating bolt action — the rifleman tosses the baton twirler into the sky. She fires up a constellation. I match you. And raise you. Toes matched — I miss you, I miss you too. The fire-blue polish, the blue negligee. 100 pony dolls at the target in cute outfits. Fits? Fits — one size fits all. Ditto the stars, ditto the moon. Ditto that day with you. Oh can’t we bring it back reproduced: tenfold dittos, the tide pools full of pulsing green anemone and giant purple starfish? Ditto for me please the first time you kissed me, stars like jacks cross the sky repeating, blinking. You give it to me and I give it back to you. Let’s play catch, ditto me and I ditto you. I love you sweetheart. I love you too. Drenched in the cleansing liquids, 88 now the lonely penitent on hands and knees scrubbing back and forth and fragmented — Knock knock — the polished doorknob — Who’s there? Ditto. Ditto who? Ditto. Ditto who? Ditto. Ditto who? BRN-SPRING-2015.indb 88 3/29/15 11:42 AM