Miracle Issue 6
The Knots in His Back -Rebecca Gimblett The problem is not how to leave my chair and navigate through the masses collected here in the bar, vultures eyeing spaces like prized fillets, but how to leave my chair and not to touch him [too much] as I pass. To stand and softly shift space between us, not press gently an excuse of palms on his shoulders, [not] feel how checkered that shirt really is, how it looks the way cake would feel, would taste in my mouth. Perfectly cut. Bite size. He has a freckle sitting quietly behind his ear [does he know? should I tell him?]. The trick here, ladies and gentlemen, is not to lick it, not to press my little finger to its sweet smoothness, not wipe it to my lips like clotted cream. The skill will be in passing by unnoticed; my hummingbird heartbeat covered up by the cawing buzzards around us, that collar unstiffened between fingers, his hair unwoven and unsmoothed into gold. Tactile creatures, we return to mice after midnight, if we are lucky. Try only to keep the peace And our best laid plans Sneak out the door. And come back. And sit down. Remain calm. Do not feed the animal. We don't want any kind of trouble here.
Rebecca Gimblett is a vagabond poet. She currently resides in Ireland but wants to write herself into at least ten other worlds. She has been previously published in Bare Hands Journal for both her photography and poetry, and was longlisted for The Fish Flash Fiction Prize 2013.
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