For the rest of it

Of any of the days had not been close enough.
It was not that she was alone, it was that nothing
penetrated the area immediately about her head and she felt
as if she was inside a car driving along looking out through
thick glass. This was not terror. Her hair was not
black, yet it was dark.

When she saw the boys in black jackets and perfect
modified sculpted meticulous hair then
she would think about hair.

Sometimes they wore nets. Times some of the time went by
unnoticed and it was necessary to write down on a calendar
"hair." Outside 2 voices between the walls of the building
are not known languages. The faucet drips. Thus is dimension
given to the board. A fleet of meanings and unknown sounds
are all related

to the substance she meant to not put in her body and the man
in the other room she can't hear but whom she trusts is there
silently being the one she knows closer than others. A person
she meant to join if it were possible in the rest of it.
The rest of the day she would think about what it meant to
join if it were possible with someone else in the rest of it.

It was not that she was alone it was that she was given
to the poison she meant to not put in her body and the man
in the other room. Her hair was dark and yet was not black.
Three things happened. None of which was absolute or true,
that is, true as in truth-like or something literal, a stone
to put in the pocket and carry home.
A real plot.

Johanna Jordahl

read the author's Bio and Working Notes

go to The Etiquette of Romance or Walls

go to this issue's table of contents