Clara Just Before
Locust under foot, such a heartbreaking sound. We see
her lovely origami face through the curtains in front as she squints and holds
up her tiny hand to the window, the thinnest silk over bird-bones.
I love the Foyer, the scent of old perfume and dead skin
particles hovering thick in the air and lit by beams through old lace.
Charlie buries his wet snout in her side, his mane
dominating her wisp of form while she smiles through the glittery afternoon
haze.
“You know, I never did mess with another woman’s man….unless
he asked me to.”
And Clara laughed.
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