Rituals

Along for the quietest of evenings
Waiting patiently after long conversations
A glass of wine
Another glass
The last of it pooling in the curved base of the bottle
Drive
Film
Food
Drive
Drive again
Tomorrow drive when the day comes
At some point the body slows as its designed to do
Bed
Thoughts of slow, lazy sex
Conversations in the dark
Medusa in an old dress this time
One of the oldest
A favourite
Yes, it is a favourite
While the others are away for the evening
Collecting thought after thought
Thing after thing
And she holds a handful of them
Hand at rest at the end of a relaxed arm
The line of light and shadow over her neck
The pale distinction between her neck and the painted plaster
This too is a celebration
Remembering a conversation with my host two evenings before
So perhaps that’s why she visits tonight
To celebrate
Remembering a conversation with a collegue the day before
Celebrating ordinary and commonplace things
In the most extraordinary way
I come to understand the importance of spatial awareness
That she’s often here
More often than I may have thought
The others will always come into the field of vision
Will make noises in the far part of the house
But when she comes it may be only her voice
Humming
Or her breath
Her fingers as she drags them across the nearest surface
Back and forth
Back and forth
To remind me that she shares space with me
Or to make a sound that is pleasing to her
It is pleasing to me
She sits on the chair opposite the bed
Waits for me to finally sleep
And in the morning she will have left me letters to read