Page 64 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. IV #6

55
Pieces of Glass
She moves her hand and says,
‘Throw it in there.’
The intimacy of her handbag lost
In the loneliness of pubs,
Screw-top wine and Premiership football.
To interrupt the silence she takes his glasses.
The horizontal metal frame complementing the angles Of her cheek and jaw.
‘How do I look?’
‘You look like a teacher.’
‘I can see you clearly now.’
‘How did you see me before?’
She pauses. The thin mettle of her lips closing,
As she reaches for balm.
‘I wear glass to flatten my eyes.’
‘Severe astigmatism,’ she explains.
She can see as far as the door, but not
To the street outside where the red of taillights are met By the passing blue of ambulances.
‘I see just as far as I need to. Nothing more.’
‘Like a shield that no man sees,’ he comments,
As she refuses a touch.
He can see to the bus stop, where they will wait For her to go home.
To flowers and red wine,
And walks along the river.
BoBBy nayyar