02: October 2014 #14 - The Fight
Authored by Susan Konz #2
by Susan Konz
He’s reaching across the table, palm up, fingers splayed beneath her chin as if to say, like this, just like this, nothing else. It’s the shape of things he’s mapping out for her. Simple edges, crude shapes that speak plainly. Unless, it’s their weight. His hand falls down & rises, levied before her face. She keeps steady, palms pressed to the table top. She’s looking past the hand, her shoulders drawn back, lips cinched. Is she remembering how she used to determine things by feel? As a girl, lilting her fingers beneath the cold tap water or cloying down into the black soil for rocks, worms – even now, the lip of her glass as, watching him speak, absently she wets her finger, traces along the edge. She’s learning.