Now my neighbor through the wall playing piano, I imagine, with her eyes closed. When she stops playing, she disappears. I am still waiting for the right words to explain myself to you. When there was nothing left to smoke, I drew on my lips with a pen until they were black. Or is this what it means to be empty: to make no sound? I pressed my mouth to the wall until I'd made a small gray ring. Or maybe emptiness is a form of listening. Maybe I am just listening. Copyright © 2016 Allison Benis White. Used with permission of the author. |
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