Читать книгу Cutting Room - Sarah Pinder - Страница 12

after David Gillanders

Your head wound was exquisite,

a sheet of red velvet

obscuring your eyes.

Here, the commonness

of household tools turning,

on circumstance, to active

meat in complex hallways,

the alcove of a payphone

where voices make demands

or even pray.

I touched the place your face

should have been, cradled

between the gloved hands

of the nurses’

quiet frame.