Hidden away in the music you found my hand. I might have been the prettiest there in a dress I’d sewed. I felt sure of you, further complimented by the zucca and rice you’d cooked for supper. So many times I found myself counting on you to catch the forgotten milk on the stove, to balance the books my arithmetic failed. At intermission you reached the lobby ahead of me, where you spotted a young girl you hardly knew. Pretty enough to caress her cheek with your hand. "It’s just my way," you said, when I wondered out loud, with a self ripped out, hideous, inert, even knowing a week ago I touched the cheek of another with the same careless affection.
Copyright © 2005 Georgianna Orsini. Used with permission of CavanKerry Press.