Excuse me while I wring this long swim out of my hair
Sarah J. Sloat
dancing girl press, 2011
Sarah J. Sloat grew up in New Jersey, and has lived in Germany for many years, where she works for a news agency. Sarah’s poems have appeared in RHINO, Court Green, Bateau and Opium, among other publications. Her chapbook, In the Voice of a Minor Saint, was published in 2009 by Tilt Press.
Every night the reindeer gaping
in the basement window. Slenderly.
Legs flash past the lights, antlers hung
like candelabra, a matter of faith.
Their hooves move like spoons.
Mouthful of mud. Mouthful of Armagnac.
The sleigh is the absolute rhapsody, the last word in lunging,
an epée plunging from a white glove.
The reindeer confuse weeping for wind, acorns for bells.
Since they came, I mourn no more for my horselessness.
They believe in the least of us.
They nose unpretentiously through the nativity
while I unscrew the base of the snowglobe.
They’ve been so patient.
Now we go in.