cigarettes, bourbon and two leotards

on this blue night

Joan Didion smokes
cigarettes in the dark

her typewriter
click clacks
as she
pulls the clouds down
around her

it is always night
here

she wears her grief
like stars

her daughter
her husband
have been waiting

this constellation
is a family again

death
just a warm manuscript
that tastes of bourbon

she dances
in a black leotard

tossing her bones
like dice
​into the ether




​