There are some things you just
on a platter. The blood pools in the basin like a special
sauce, the kind of garnish you might push around
with a napkin at a long, late
banquet while your mother
and stepfather feed each other grapes in the candlelight.
The platter was Salome’s embellishment, she
the artist, the dancer, the
interpreter of her mother’s quest,
the head of John the Baptist. You see, there are some
things you just don’t put on a platter:
A girl, satiating the appetites of
a hall full
of men with her dance. Such a small rebellion,
like scooping up food with a spoon
instead of fork and knife.