Sunday, January 25, 2004

she came from the east coast

tomorrow will be sunday. she will take the child to watch the football. pretend to enjoy the game. her feet will freeze to the concrete floor. the tip of her nose will sting from the wind. the child wont feel the cold. they never do. she will watch him from the main grandstand. doing what he does. she wont pretend to understand. he wont mind that she doesn't. but she will be there. watching. he will know this.

late at night - after evening mass, he will visit. the child will be asleep. he will tell her what was wrong - or right. she will nod and smile, perhaps frown. all the while she will be thinking. how he always smells fresh. fresh and clean. he will be thinking about the curve of her breast. the way that her hair covers her eyes. deliberate. covering thoughts. hiding feelings. she will wonder if he's staying over. he will wonder if he can. neither will ask. eventually he will kiss her. she will walk to the door. smile. he will follow.

when the children have gone to school she will bring him coffee. when its almost cold, waiting for his mouth, he will drink it. quickly - all at once. she will compare the cup to her lips. waiting for his mouth. he will not hear the depth in her statement. he will not feel the silence in her voice. he will see how vulnerable she looks. her hair curling against her cheek. framing her lips. her pyjamas curling up her legs. this he can hear. can feel. he will kiss her. he will know she wants this kiss. he will taste her need.

at night from the back bedroom window you can see the hills. like a postcard. there is still snow left on the uppermost peaks. the pylons loom - alive. hillwalking in still motion. going nowhere. she remembers the iron giant. perhaps his thumb lays there. perhaps an elbow. beneath the well of the nine maidens. tomorrow will be sunday. derby day. she came from the east coast. he came from the same street. she wondered at the plan.

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