Agatha anchors Eva to the land and to the present.
Crisp clear waves call to her through a seashell collection
on the back of a small toilet. Clouds fog her eyes, darkening.
Then, a hand catches hers. Twirling skirts and curly hair,
Agatha and Eva deliver quick, harsh stomps to
their poor wooden floor. Tig leaps atop a desk,
meowing after they edge too close
to her snoozing form.
Collapsing onto their only rug,
Eva promises, “One day, I will
take you home with me. Even
if I must cut my own tail off
and give it to you.”
Agatha laughs. “There must be
enough blood in the world
without adding yours.”
No comments:
Post a Comment