The Surprise Comes Never
1 Minute Read Time
Closest I ever was to her,
sheer proximity. Applied
glue to her fake eyelashes
one Halloween. Down on one knee,
held my fingers to her eyelids
for whole minutes, for good
measure. Don’t open them,
not yet. The surprise comes
never. Nothing mysterious
about the way I wanted
to do her dishes, dance in her kitchen.
Made a home there
on her hardwood but she could not
see me. Could propose
neither my happiness nor her bedroom.
We were silent except when we weren’t.
Her dimples so deep, a doorway,
to what? When a room is empty,
we say vacant. I understood time then
only as infinite. When a room is in use,
we say occupied, sometimes
unavailable. Every room in her house empty
but where I knelt. We went to a party,
couple’s costume. I thought there
was room. I have romanticized
my life on every dance floor.
Her hands on my face like she had to
protect it. The lights on the walls,
the floor, like diamonds. Like flashlights
flashing at diamonds. The flashing
more like waving. Unwavering.
Consistent as a hand waving, her hand
waving, too soon, goodbye.
Read more from Issue 17.1.
