shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Kate LaDew

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our conversation

comes in quick, tense spurts, like the words are rushing into the open air,
afraid of missing their chance to be heard
for every one we say there are ten we don't
your eyes flickering from my eyes to my lips
me watching the way your hair falls on your neck,
tendons in your wrist flexing as the dial spins
from dead air to something familiar
our fairly shallow resources of affection are dried up
and there's only one box left in the attic
if you dig down far enough, there's a picture album filled halfway
the last page is my face, leaning back, smiling up at the photographer
the image of a girl who may have needed a kiss
in a long-ago moment trapped forever
as the song spins out, you smile at me, I smile back,
and that's how this story goes,
smiling at each other through the many forms of distance separating the two of us