A life that could not have been By Madelyn Miller

 

The Life that could not have been:

I saw a woman once.

She had a peacock feather painted on her collar bone.

It protruded toward me in vibrant colors.

I wondered what paint-can held its hues of mulberry.

My nephew played horse shoe, with a mysterious man.

He looked like someone I knew.

I was attracted to his mystery.

My gaze was of wonder, not of lust but he was erking my intuition.

I thought to myself, what is his favorite color?

Does he pray to the prophet Mohammad?

I sensed that he was adventurous, and would venture to a place unknown.

Like Jupiter with its bellowing rings.

I looked out toward the lake.

A cool rush came over me.

Stumbling towards it, I realized I had one too many.

And though it was breezy, I pictured myself in a swanky setting.

Images of Southern California in 1975.

Shag carpet and a train wreck of a house party.

The mysterious man laughing with me. 

My calico cat warmed my feet.

There was a ridiculously lavish dinosaur painting on the wall.

How extravagant I thought.

I was pampered in that moment.

Like the women with the peacock collar bone.

And her life that could not have been mine.