|
Harkins, Spring '98
You would recognize us if you
saw us sitting here in the
near-dark, waiting for the lights
to dim and leave us, somewhat
breathless, in a world that is
not quite real and yet real enough
to reach out and touch.
You would recognize us if not
by the space our bodies inhabit
but by the negative space, the
space that we do not take up; the
bare black nothing that reaches from
his ridged collarbone straight
to my pointed elbow; the blackness
that swirls between his untied
Nikes and my laced Docs.
This blackness curls
lazy, tries to choke us. He turns
away and I see winged
shoulderblade, knobbled
backbone like a string of fresh-
water pearls. I want
to run him through my fingers like
precious stones. I want to touch him
just for the reaction.
His feet knock time into
the back of the seat. I look around
at the couples, fingers entwined,
wondering about this noxious space that
threatens to overwhelm us
if we are not careful. I realize
I am made up of black space. I
watch romance on the screen
and listen for breath.
Amy Durant
|
|
