Crawfish

Screams of purchased terror drown out the tired groan of machinery. Carnival lights fade into the night, the cicada hum of traffic taking their place. A crinkled paper tray cupped in her palm, the crunch of crawdads between her fingers. Strains of the national anthem crawl through the air and Cajun magic stings her lips. A sprinkler paints a dark crescent on the sidewalk and she moves toward it, drawn by the music of the drops, fingers seeking the gentle kiss of water against her palm. The wind reaches for her hair, lifts her skirts and dances across her cheeks. She turns into its lover’s kiss, closes her eyes and breathes in the night.