Monday, November 02, 2009
..in which the sisters discuss the urge to flee
Reservation
She enters the diner, a book
in her purse; sits down,
opens a menu. Tongues
on her sneakers
twist like the urge to flee.
She steals a glance at her wrist,
watch-face ticking in circles;
notices that the table has a head,
a chair with a back
and arms to rest her elbows on.
To knuckle her spine
against the chair’s ladder of slats
comforts her with some frame
of reference.
Carnations nod in a vase.
She fingers the blown glass,
its slender neck, the wet crystal lip.
The room begins to hum.
(from Prisoner's Dilemma)
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