|
||||
|
|
||||
| This Evil Thing If you wanted, you could run from the cold release of her arms into another's. But that's not what you want. Last night, from a dark empty room you called a stranger and asked so politely, your strained voice sustained, if it would be an imposition to bring a change of clothes. All quiet, he responded No, and took you in hand inside the door, pressing his stubbled chin into your face offering the oblivion you sought. Shush, said his silence. Shush, there is no place for words in the evil thing you are doing here Just do it, and move forward. God moves through you, another kind of open. — Frances Donovan August 2003, October 2003
|
||||
 |
||||