Christopher James

The sun still

With shadows grazing
the bridge
of your nose

Your irises
rest in
the shade
of two o’clock

A lone bird
demands attention
at the tip of
a solar flare.

Ringlets tousle
in a head pivot
Suddenly it is six

The white ring
on your itching wrist

There is no
of his indiscretion
upon your body
of indiscretion


…a turquoise shoe
dangles from your pinky toe
by the journey
of rough education
it dangles
above the ocean
with expectation

the moon goes black
comes back
and returns
as a cat eye

the shoe waits for a nudge
for a final thought
that douses
love letters
with lighter fluid

You contemplate the heel
nearly snapped
in the taxi door

The black smudge
of his clumsiness
when he couldn’t hear
the music
He could never
the music
never listened

to your body

The rum he spilled
on your anxious leg
ran down and inside
the sole
At the Christmas
party where you bit
your nails
he was better

He alternated
adoring and forgetting
flattering and upsetting
dancing with
and trampling you.

Inciting you to speak
to show
you were smart
Interrupting you
so they wouldn’t
know how smart

He ripped your dress
passed out
never hearing your
dream time breath

The shoe falls
Sun swords pierce waves
the splintered pier
shoe won’t sink.

The passive man
Sits numbing himself with whiskey
Bleary eyes reflect greyhounds running in circles.
He asks the bartender to turn the volume up.
He wonders where you went,
Why you always seem angry,
And what time it is.

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