MARCH 21, 1994
The night of my birthday,
Chloe invites me to come over
but I say thanks, no.
I watch the Oscars, alone.
We used to watch together,
as a family,
place bets.
But April’s with James,
volunteering at the Gay Men’s Health Crisis.
Mom drawing, Dad asleep.
Flip on the TV.
The red carpet, the gowns.
Who will be the winners:
Leonardo DiCaprio for What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?
Winona Ryder for The Age of Innocence?
Whoopi Goldberg jokes,
Schindler’s List wins almost everything.
Tom Hanks wins for Philadelphia,
says:
The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels . . .
They number a thousand
for each one of the red ribbons
that we wear here tonight . . .
I make a wish,
push OFF.
The TV flashes once
before it fades to black.