Hologram
Gaby Bedetti
Children drop off the tree
and roll away
friends spin out of my orbit
or die
Yet I am not Ronsard’s Helen,
a crone bent low in sorrow,
nor Yeats’ paltry thing,
tattered coat upon a stick
–though I apply lipstick
to make myself more visible
I flicker, an illusion
of intersecting light beams,
a sum of particles
that levitate out of bed
and travel through the air
giving the impression
of a tenured professor
A light-filled overlord
I turn off the news,
gather for coffee at Wendy’s,
join the virtual choir
cast about for synthesis
all while fading away
by natural dark
decay
