Fragments of Etienne

– You always forget.
I always forget
– It doesn’t really matter. I’ll always know which one is me.
But it’s me who might not know
– Yes but when that happens I don’t think it will matter anyway.
Driving in the morning
The changes in the weather
Sitting beside me in the car
– I miss this. This song.
Reach forward and depress the button
Play it again
She turns and looks at me
Then in the evening when the house is empty
And only the softer, yellow glow lights the room
I sit with my tea and say to her
— All the things I keep are slipping away from me.
She inhales
Holds
Says nothing
— Or perhaps I’m sending them away.
Exhale
— Or letting them go.
– Adrift.
And I don’t expect her to say that
I turn to look at her
Nod once
– Not leaving your per se. Not about leaving.
I know where she’s going
Left adrift
The things will naturally float away from one-another
– And me? Am I adrift?
I’m not sure if she’s self-centered
Always relating things back to herself
– Perhaps. I love my ego.
But without the wry smile she would usually give
I don’t think she’s self-centered
She is trying to learn something
Trying to teach me something
– You were going to say that it’s in the attempt that something of true worth is learnt.
— Something like that.
I hand her the cup of tea
She raises it to her nose
Inhales
Then lowers it to her mouth
Tilts and drinks
I watch the contractions of her throat
While her eyes look over the cup
Unblinking