. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Friday 11 April 2008

The Artist - Lena's Letters

part vii:

Tucked under her nighties, Nancy found scraps of paper. Soon she had gathered bits of words from shoe boxes on the closet's top shelf and from between the mattresses. There were more, she knew it, but desperate now to begin piecing the undated journal her sister had left behind - evidence of the last ten years - Nancy had to read what she could before Richard returned.

She formed a paper mountain in the center of the bed, where a valley must have begun to appear some time ago already. She picked one up, taking in the handwriting she had seemingly not forgotten. The first one was in pen and scribed on a torn sheet of full-scap...

i tuck my toes between his calves and eventually
manage to squeeze in most of my cold feet without
too much protest. my arm wrapped around as
much of his thick midriff as i can, my right cheek
rests just below his shoulder blades. it comforts me
to feel the up and down motion of his lungs, to hear
his breath. i try and synchronize my rhythm to
his, without success. how does he sleep so soundly?
almost like he doesn’t know i’m here, in This bed,
our bed, caressing the length of his thighs, feeling
him, wanting him.

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