She lied in the unmade hotel bed,
in nothing but dark white underwear.
Dark-green black-out curtains,
with a slit in the middle, filtered
and framed the sorrowful light
of noontime; leaving a bar of sun
That made dust waltz in the musky air,
and illuminating the small
Of the woman’s back and hips,
making the skin shine. Her husband
stood at the foot of the bed looking
in the mirror and glanced back at her
napping and she looked so harmless,
like a child− or an animal; like she had
never been hurt, or sunk her teeth in another.
Two nights before they fought about silverware,
and he watched a documentary on wildlife survival
in which a hunter strangled a rabbit to death,
and it made him wonder how it would feel
to hold the animal by the throat, while it
squirmed and cried for breath within the hand.
For some reason, He concluded it would feel
easier to smother someone to death with a pillow.
The couple decided to leave the city,
To pretend they had a fresh start,
from the fact that it had been a whole
season since they had last touched
the room came with bed made,
and complimentary soaps on the
counter.
when the woman got up,
they walked to the shore a block away.
The sun was turning red, and falling
below the feminine silhouette of the earth,
and the wind picked up moving the water,
like a mirror unfolding and dividing indefinitely.
The woman walked farther out on the gray
sand and told the man to take a picture of her,
the sun behind her illuminating each tendril of dead
skin flouting round her head like threads of dark wine.
She laughed, and the sound carried
out through the water and came back, like an
invisible
twin.
Later that night the man stood on the porch
smoking. The moon was rising and full.
He could hear the giggling of a young couple
room beyond the courtyard. They were
Skinny-dipping in the pool; the woman embraced
in the young man’s arms legs wrapped our his waist.
The old man suddenly felt warm, recalling his flash adolescence
in extinct lukewarm nights like this. A tinge of nostalgia
and regret that rose and fell for a second and then disappeared.
He then scoffed, threw the smoldering smoke off the porch,
walked back to his room, and slammed the door.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
She lied in the unmade hotel bed,
in nothing but dark white underwear.
Dark-green black-out curtains,
with a slit in the middle, filtered
and framed the sorrowful light
of noontime; leaving a bar of sun
That made dust waltz in the musky air,
and illuminating the small
Of the woman’s back and hips,
making the skin shine. Her husband
stood at the foot of the bed looking
in the mirror and glanced back at her
napping and she looked so harmless,
like a child− or an animal; like she had
never been hurt, or sunk her teeth in another.
Two nights before they fought about silverware,
and he watched a documentary on wildlife survival
in which a hunter strangled a rabbit to death,
and it made him wonder how it would feel
to hold the animal by the throat, while it
squirmed and cried for breath within the hand.
For some reason, He concluded it would feel
easier to smother someone to death with a pillow.
The couple decided to leave the city,
To pretend they had a fresh start,
from the fact that it had been a whole
season since they had last touched
the room came with bed made,
and complimentary soaps on the
counter.
when the woman got up,
they walked to the shore a block away.
The sun was turning red, and falling
below the feminine silhouette of the earth,
and the wind picked up moving the water,
like a mirror unfolding and dividing indefinitely.
The woman walked farther out on the gray
sand and told the man to take a picture of her,
the sun behind her illuminating each tendril of dead
skin flouting round her head like threads of dark wine.
She laughed, and the sound carried
out through the water and came back, like an
invisible
twin.
Later that night the man stood on the porch
smoking. The moon was rising and full.
He could hear the giggling of a young couple
room beyond the courtyard. They were
Skinny-dipping in the pool; the woman embraced
in the young man’s arms legs wrapped our his waist.
The old man suddenly felt warm, recalling his flash adolescence
in extinct lukewarm nights like this. A tinge of nostalgia
and regret that rose and fell for a second and then disappeared.
He then scoffed, threw the smoldering smoke off the porch,
walked back to his room, and slammed the door.
