Читать книгу The Bad Wife Handbook - Rachel Zucker - Страница 15

Axon, Dendrite, Rain

When he speaks I am allowed to look at him.

Let this perfect conjure slide over (all over)

the thought reaching out to my loud now—

I want to—

but find no way to make my hands

natural, accidental. I try to make his skin

a chaste idea. But even his gloves, made from slaughtered

goats, their pliable kid leather become a bias-cut

slip, myelin sheath, the impulse jumps node-to-node, too fast for capture.

The body.

Less, less real. I am aware of wanting

to look at him. In the long space

in which others speak I cannot look at him.

take your clothes off

And I do. In dream after dream, except

last night when I’m running a long way

in the rain and, basketball in one hand, he

stands watching. And when he watches—

I run and run, do not wake up

but that—(there,) that, that, that: rain

at my window, husband in my bed.