The Venetian
James Davis | Poetry
In my other life, I majored in theatre
instead of English. I speak instead
of write in the voice of the sister
I don’t have. Sister, I love you
even though you are fake
as the gondolas in that Venice-themed
hotel/casino on the Vegas strip
whose name I forget but sells Diane
von Furstenberg wrap dresses
for thousands of dollars—who has
that kind of money? In my other life,
I almost do. In my other life, I am famous
among the Houston theatre scene,
the Alley with its Regional Tony
glass-cased in the lobby like a holy relic,
Theatre Under the Stars with its fake
stars on the ceiling—I’ve played them all,
Bernard in Death of a Salesman, serious
and vaguely homosexual; Louis in Angels
in America, overtly homosexual, neurotic
and beautiful. I am seen. I don’t write
poems even for birthdays, don’t feel
even the slightest FOMO. And sister,
you come backstage after every opening
with a big bouquet of irises reeking
of grape soda. You tell me I was better
in Zoo Story, and you’re right,
as usual, in your knockoff Prada.
James Davis is the author of the poetry collection Club Q (Waywiser 2020), which won the Anthony Hecht Prize. His poetry has been featured on NBC News and CBC Radio, as well as in journals such as the Gettysburg Review, Copper Nickel, 32 Poems, Bennington Review, and The Gay & Lesbian Review. A PhD candidate at the University of North Texas, he serves as Poetry Editor for American Literary Review and teaches literature and creative writing.