2004 - Vol. 1, Issue 9

"I'm telling you, I've gone 'round the bend."

My friend, Carin, is agitated. It seems she caught herself punching a toll-free number on the microwave keypad the other day. I put on a face of concern. "Did you hear three tones, then, 'The number you have dialed is no longer in service. The new number is...'?"

"No." She is still frowning but there is a smile knocking at the back of her eyes, working on her mouth.

"Allrighty, then, no need to panic," I declare.

The smile steps forward. "At least not yet," she offers.

My friend Natalia says
I shouldn't use words like
hemorrhoids and fissure, words
that perfectly describe those
painful things.
I should be more poetic,
she says.

Legs appear from wallpaper.
She is,
oh they are,
stepping out and down for me.

Arms hold gowns,
and lace more delicate than cobweb
bridals me toe to top.
Even alone in the house I speak
in the plural.
We are not going out.
We are enjoying the hour
and would like you to stay.