you and me – POSTCARD #32
I’ve also began a project with him that makes me remember how much I love good old fashioned airmail. Especially that little blue sticker.
don’t get comfortable
I’m walking home alone again. It’s late. Probably dangerous. You know. Men. Always having to be scared of them. I wish I knew how to fight. Properly like, not just punching and kicking and clawing. I remember when he hit me. How my head snapped back and hit the wall. I hiccup and remember how big those hands were. I hate the hiccups. They hurt and make me feel drunk. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone at the bar but I never do. I keep away from the streetlights. They’re too bright. Showing all my faults to the trees. The houses are quiet and I feel like everyone is gone. Just like the Mary Celeste. I walk past a house and imagine the late-night sandwich someone made, sitting on the bench with a bite out of it. They had perfect teeth. I’m the Omega Woman walking the streets alone, but there’s music coming from a house ahead. The doors are open but no one around. I open the gate and see someone is. A man on the porch. Asleep on a couch. He’s more of a boy really. I remember how I should be scared but I step closer. The porch creaks. I hiccup. He doesn’t move. I toss and turn a lot. I have bad dreams and wake up with hair like a witch. His hair is dark. Wavy. He looks gentle. I bet he is. I can tell how he’s sleeping. All curled up with his knees bent like he wants someone to sleep with. I lay behind him and slip my arm over his waist. I press my cheek against his back. We breathe together and his hand moves and closes over mine. When he wakes up I hope he smiles at the strange dream he had.