A House of Moments V

Published Thursday, December 14, 2006 by Frank Sauce | E-mail this post

"This is the pit of torment that placid end
Should be illusion, that the mobs of birth
Avoid our stale perfections, seeking out
Their own, waiting until we go
To picnic in the ruins that we leave."
-Wallace Stevens Transport to Summer, "Dutch Graves in Bucks County"

That they sit, he and she, at a table made for three with three chairs, three settings, but they are only two of four that take up two chairs and all the air of that room. They feed each other slices of a winter fruit, almost frozen.

There is nothing more than a fingertip they share. They share more, if you believe more than that thing, the simple ruins of living rooms and coffee tables.

They share that word often, but neither of them is sure of the word, the delicate sound in a throat, the whispered air, the bottom breath of each other.

Tonight since a long time, they are they instead of each an other.

0 Responses to “A House of Moments V”

Frank Sauce

By Jeffrey Bershaw
from Portland, OR
I'll try to write as little as possible. I'm a little man with high hopes, pipe dreams and little machines inside that keep me writing.
More About Frank Sauce
Painting by Anna Todaro