gia civerolo

 hollywood dreams deferred

The look on her face

asked before she spoke-

“Do you have any

dreams I can borrow?”

She proceeded to precisely

pick at the reasons, like a scab,

Why her load had gotten so heavy

No matter how hard she tried to balance it,

she couldn’t seem to carry her dreams anymore.

She asked again, a little more politely-

“Please, do you have any dreams

I can borrow?

Just for today, or for a little while.”

She held her tears in her eyes

I lost track of what she was saying,

entranced by how her tears never

fell down her face.

They puddled in her eyes where

I saw a reflection of a me that I wasn’t so

sure I liked.

She asked again-

“Please, do you have any dreams

I can borrow?”

Her voice was more desperate,

out of breath. She had

climbed the hierarchy of hope,

letting her down time and time again.

When she made it to the top,

they only asked her to dust the light fixtures.

I became fidgety and searched

through my pockets, knowing

there weren’t any dreams there,

pulling out change in the

hopes that it would be enough.

She only batted them away

saying, “I don’t want your money.

I made it clear, I want to borrow

a dream!”

I watched the coins as they rolled down

the sidewalk, neglecting to pick them up,

like extra dreams

to give away.

She angrily spit out the question again—

“Do you have any dreams I can borrow?”

Her blistering beliefs continued.

She had worn high-heeled, glittery, ghostly glass slippers

that shattered into thousands of shards

She darted and dodged but still managed to get cut

deep into her toughest skin soul

No one was there to sweep the pieces away

I looked to the sky in hopes the clouds would take

shape in an answer

or that a rainbow would

spontaneously appear like a miracle I could point to

as a dream, but it was a gray LA day.

I tried to cough up words, but I sounded

as though I was choking on smog.

“There are dreams all around here for the taking.

This is Hollywood, after all.”

She laughed hysterically and said—

“I asked if you have any dreams I can borrow,

and the best you can do is produce platitudes and cliché?

You think you are full of happiness?

Watch how the taste becomes bitter,

like this moment. You’re wasting my time. And your own,”

She declared as she walked away from me,

her head held high like one black high-heeled

shoe tossed on the corner of Hollywood Blvd.

where graffiti stars, too easy to stepped over,

names that stopped meaning

anything to anyone

a long time ago.

I stood still, stunned silently,

wondering, “Where did it all go wrong?

Where did dreams go for her…

maybe even for me?

A stranger walked by and I asked him —

“Do you have any dreams I can borrow?”

hollywood nights

  

I remember the band screaming their loud songs

I remember they lit the Hollywood Bar like a firefly igniting feelings of all possibilities

I remember the sheer, black-and-white polka-dot shirt I was wearing with a black, laced bra and a white miniskirt uniformed fishnet hose ending in combat boots

I remember you were wearing a 40s paisley tie with a black shirt and black pants, your hair slicked back 50s style with matching sideburns and blue, blue eyes

I remember sitting on top of a cigarette vending machine with my legs crossed and a bird’s-eye view

I remember you were quick with a light and a smile

I remember my black cat-eyes liner smeared when I looked in the graffiti-filled bathroom’s cracked mirror

I remember I had a crush on your friend who seemed like my type 

Shockingly I was his type, too (no one ever thinks they are someone else's type)

I remember the smoke-filled room made the bodies dancing seem like Impressionist paintings

I remember shouting my story though no was listening but you

I remember you helping every band load their equipment

I remember knowing then you were cool and thinking (not for the last time) “Just hurry up!”

I remember our friends who were there, and still are, and feel sad for the ones who are gone

I remember you and I talked and talked and talked

I don’t remember what we said

I remember thinking you were a “nice” guy

I don’t remember knowing then that you would be my forever

climate change

 

It had not rained hard

since 1986

LA deluge. You. Me.