Bodies in late afternoon.
When the sky bleeds sunset into the back against glass door under rustle of palms near boxes to chill the neck trained against attack and fatigue of keeping this impulse near keeps heads heavy in morning on bodies so long theaters of war under constant command to move and move out, a sudden stillness may sing.
A brief encounter.
It was a single date, but memorable.
Who wears a watch anymore? he quipped, except if you are trying to impress.
He was referring to the old watches that just did time.
Laughing as they entered the restaurant, she removed her coat to reveal a dress made of old watches.
What is this? he asked.
She had her reasons. It’s been a week of dark dreams, she told him, and she was done with fighting them off. They are creatures too, these memories. She supposed they just needed a home.
Now nervous, he tried to make light. So, do you have the time?
I have all the time in the world, she replied. Take your pick. Every watch was set to a different time.
Suddenly, he remembered something he had to do. There was no time to explain, he told her. Urgent business, he said. So sorry!
She waved as one does from upper deck of an ocean liner at departure, smiling.
What followed was a beautiful meal.
***
Inspired by an encounter with this reference to L. Mylott Manning’s Kiss the Dark.
