It’s the holidays and I’m sending nude photos to a guy who’s talking about fantasies-- how in a restaurant, he’d throw a bottle of Pinot right on the floor, make love to me on the table, pulling that party trick, grabbing the tablecloth from underneath as onlookers watch, taking photos, applauding like we’re in an experimental art display museum-goers pay $10 to watch at the MoMA, clapping again at the end because is there any other way to react to art? You could cry, fan your face, wipe that tear off, pretend you give a damn about this culmination of cinema, our scene of beauty that’s Citizen Kane worthy in its frankness. And I tell him this is all swell, but in the next scene, let’s move on the floor because as things shatter, we won’t feel it. We’re invincible, and I’m still hoping it’s you and me in the end. I don’t care if Alfredo gets in my hair-- we’re not in a cheesy-rom-com-piña-colada- getaway-of-castaways fantasy of man and woman who find each other sexy, because there’s no one else, and a day ago female lead said, “I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on Earth.” And I tell this guy, as he pages through my breasts, that in this fantasy, the waiter will deliver our breadsticks on the floor because food is sexier when you’re craving, take Splash when Daryl Hannah’s at the 5-star with Tom Hanks and she munches down that lobster, shell included, and his jaw drops because he’s wondering “Where has this woman been all my life?” Or after an argument, like in TheFlintstones, when Fred and Wilma suck on ribs, groaning at each other in the restaurant. Some lady licking her spumoni orders tiramisu for us, trying to join in. But her hair’s too comic-book-red, and this table is reserved for two. I take her tiramisu, throw it at his chest, lick it off.
Dorothy Chan was a 2014 finalist for the Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship and a 2016 semi-finalist for The Word Works’ Washington Prize. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Blackbird, Plume, The Journal, Spillway, Little Patuxent Review, and The McNeese Review. Her poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart. She is the Assistant Editor of The Southeast Review.