FIVE YEARS AFTER MARRIAGE
Faces angled slightly from the camera,
dark eyes focused on the future.
Skin translucent like wax paper,
her lips tight to hide the gap between her
teeth,
his mouth quirked in that way that spells
a secret he will share with only you
if you will listen.
Listen, it's dangerous containing the
blackness
of their hair on the page. It will stain
your fingers
the way their restraint breaks into you now
–
tight lips and clear skin and a stillness
that promises nothing will be amiss until
dialysis,
death.
No way to know if they
could have known,
would have smiled differently
if they had.
COFFEE DATE AT BARNES AND NOBLE
She no longer has eyes
in which I see myself.
The mirror is fogged, milky
like the coffee I bring her.
In them I see a stranger
stirring her drink, one cream,
no sugar a lifetime ago,
now empty sweetness like her smile.
I read the news aloud while she nods
and wonders where we are. Smell the
books?
I ask, hoping. She replies,
Your hands are so big.
Sometimes I spill a little to see her move.
Now my hand shakes and porcelain tips
and she does not blink. We watch,
lips parted as beige creeps toward
the table's edge like a tendril probing
for life or death.
By Raluca Balasa
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