Reason for Art

It seemed casual enough.
Just a small preference towards his side of the table,
A slight movement of elbows.

I hoped he hadn’t noticed.

A sane person would not act at all.
A stable person would stay staring at the salt shaker.
Instead, I, reached for the ketchup bottle
With a lump in my throat.

Tonight I will dream of boats
Beaching me on shore
Without the hope of returning to sea.
My arms will pull the sail as hard as I can
Until they ache,
And I will awake with salt in my mouth,
Dry eyes.

I should pull back from the table.
I should go home.


...June 2005