Читать книгу Cutting Room - Sarah Pinder - Страница 13

Last night in conversation, the full frame dislodged, a cloud held

your hair in loose knots as a promise. We woke to a thousand casualties

in Gaza, a place where they are running out of blood.

A computer screen in an empty office tower gave the news, the air

circulation filtering the sound of the cloud’s breath. While I read

Al Jazeera, I wanted the crush of skin against my face, rich with sweat, alive.

At home, I eat simple food, make stiff drinks with my sister

and watch the sealed city sit like a smoking parcel in our kitchen.

No poems like ribbons today.