some stains never come out. tea-colored for life. soaked through
into the fibers until there's no real color left anymore. maybe it's okay
because it's age-old. because it's crocheted and thin soft fabric. priceless
commodity. one of a kind.
sometimes you can forget the stains. houndstooth dress, tights
and heels. eyeliner and wavy red hair. maybe i have lost the concept of time in
these long hours but there is a glint of something here. happiness or
distraction. dinner with a client and friends and safety in a cucumber &
orange salad. the sweet sting of black market cloves on my lips and through the
curls of smoke the attention of those who do not know my stories. who do not
know the secrets carved into my thighs and still see me. i am visible and taken
for granted in the best sense of the phrase. i am real to them as i am not real
to myself.
[photo removed]
maybe i ought to just trust them for a while. until i feel the
cold earth solid beneath my feet and learn to balance all day and not just in
the tungsten sunlight, not just after a flurry of compliments or a glass of red
wine.
No comments:
Post a Comment