Between A Man And A Woman There

It Was Buckley, As My Father And Sister Joined The Group And Listened To Grandma Lynn’s Countless Toasts, Who Saw Me. He Saw Me Standing Under The Rustic Colonial Clock And Stared. He Was Drinking Champagne. There Were Strings Coming Out From All Around Me, Reaching Out, Waving In The Air. Someone Passed Him A Brownie. He Held It In His Hand But Did Not Eat. He Saw My Shape And Face, Which Had Not Changed-the Hair Still Parted Down The Middle, The Chest Still Flat And Hips Undeveloped-and Wanted To Call Out My Name. It Was Only A Moment, And Then I Was Gone.

But Also I Wanted Him To Go Away And Leave Me Be. I Was Granted One Weak Grace. Back In The Room Where The Green Chair Was Still Warm From His Body, I Blew That Lonely, Flickering Candle Out

There’s No Condition One Adjusts To So Quickly As A State Of War.

You Could Not Be Filled With Hate And Be Beautiful. Like Any Other Girl, I Wanted To Be Beautiful. But I Was Filled With Hate.

The Stains Could Be Seen Only In The Sunlight, So Ruth Was Never Really Aware Of Them Until Later, When She Would Stop At An Outdoor Cafe For A Cup Of Coffee, And Look Down At Her Skirt And See The Dark Traces Of Spilled Vodka Or Whiskey. The Alcohol Had The Effect Of Making The Black Cloth Blacker. This Amused Her; She Had Noted In Her Journal: 'booze Affects Material As It Does People'.