Blue nothing. She considered miles
out the high window in the stairwell.
First, simple paper distances her finger
could trace, point A to point B.
Then the more difficult measurement,
that of closeness, like bonded atoms.
And then, hypothetical expanses
like those of the heart's vessels -
their length could circle the globe twice.
A plane seemed to crawl across the glass,
leaving a necklace vapor trail. She believed
in possibilities, that every atom that could exist,
already did, but still, she could not wear the red,
strapless dress she no longer owned,
couldn't lift her hair for his fingertips to clasp
pearls at the nape of her neck, his breath
fastening a shiver between her shoulder blades
down the small dip of her back.
She wanted to look into a large aperture
telescope, to view the farthest reaches
of visible space, where no energy had ever been
destroyed, to see into the incalculable vastness
of him in their living room downstairs, him
on the brown sofa reading. She wanted
him to put down his book, to think of her
on the landing, waiting. For him to move
exponentially faster, up the stairs two at a time.
by Jo Brachman
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 1:10 PM UTC
Blue nothing. She considered miles
out the high window in the stairwell.
First, simple paper distances her finger
could trace, point A to point B.
Then the more difficult measurement,
that of closeness, like bonded atoms.
And then, hypothetical expanses
like those of the heart's vessels -
their length could circle the globe twice.
A plane seemed to crawl across the glass,
leaving a necklace vapor trail. She believed
in possibilities, that every atom that could exist,
already did, but still, she could not wear the red,
strapless dress she no longer owned,
couldn't lift her hair for his fingertips to clasp
pearls at the nape of her neck, his breath
fastening a shiver between her shoulder blades
down the small dip of her back.
She wanted to look into a large aperture
telescope, to view the farthest reaches
of visible space, where no energy had ever been
destroyed, to see into the incalculable vastness
of him in their living room downstairs, him
on the brown sofa reading. She wanted
him to put down his book, to think of her
on the landing, waiting. For him to move
exponentially faster, up the stairs two at a time.
by Jo Brachman
