The Weekend

the weekend
Nan Goldin

On Friday,

I crawled into the arms
Of women I loved. Over
and over. Until I remembered
all the selves I had been,
in all the places I made home.
It is when all the people
who shape me
accidentally end up
shaking hands
that I become who I am
thoughtlessly

Saturday

opened in Boston,
waking up far away from usual
in the most comfortable and
familiar sense of not home.
I took a walk through last year
and ended up decked in glitter,
$400 short of all right.
Men in drag and
lights that don’t hold color
and black leather.
A twenty-two year-old man in
five-inch pink platform heels
standing in the office of
Public Safety at one-thirty a.m.
Then I went home to sleep.

Sunday

is clean-up day… all the things
you ruined over the weekend and
everything you need to not ruin
all week. And on Sunday, God
rested, because he drank 100-proof
on Saturday night and danced
His face off with a kid in out-
rageous sparkling make-up.
And on Sunday, God rested, after
eating an omelet, a bagel, a muffin,
and a bowl of fruit to get His
BAC back down to 0.0

By: Marissa Castrigno, Contributor 

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