Thursday, June 09, 2005

Clearly Sweat Garnets

This humidity defies bathing. Hair clings and the light is mango. Night. Wine stretches up to the cup’s top to lips, and the flash flashes.

Take another sip, Sara. I take another sip. Flash. There is talk of city and crush and catching the present.

My fingers slip up the knife and put it down. Flash. The corkscrew stands and opens, arms perpendiculared.

Flash. It looks like a person, I say.

They’re black and white. She plays with the camera’s buttons. Everyone looks good in black and white.

A shiny pink roll of paper appears in my hand. Your present from Spain, she says.

Garnet flowers.

It’s garnet, she says. Like your hair.

And like my pants, bag, and wallet. The tikka masala, half-toned. The spice and thereafter. Cider half-full, like the scooped-out mango. Warm.

At home I build a fan with sweat and massage. Oscillating. The phone rings and I agree to be a beneficiary to the man upstairs. Then sleep humidly.

3 Comments:

Blogger {illyria} said...

now that was such a graceful post, i feel i am stepping on my heart right now. too pretty. almost tropical.

11:09 PM  
Blogger Sara said...

graceful--how nice. usually i feel i am the opposite of graceful. it's been suddenly tropical here the past few days.

8:38 AM  
Blogger Mr Anigans said...

it is indeed sweltering, and thanks for being my contingent beneficiary

6:10 PM  

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