"in search of gravity"
In mid-May, Lorna scoops a teaspoon
of black soil from the heirloom pansy bed,
stirs it into her milky coffee and swallows
a bit of her yard. Next she tries a tuft of pillow
stuffing. Too light, she thinks.
When a cabinet knob slips down her throat
and rests in her belly, solid and cool,
she begins to think she has found salvation.
No one notices the missing coasters
or the napkin rings. Too many knick-knacks,
she proclaims when her husband notes
their newly uncluttered family room.
Spring gives way to summer and she remains
a small woman in a large house.
Who needs two sets of silverware, she remarks
or a waffle iron? The closets grow tidy.
She begins to sleep all night, curled around herself.
She wakes with a insatiable hunger
and explains the love seat’s disappearance.
Charity, she says, It’s gone to a worthy cause.
In late June she packs her sons for camp
then consumes the trunks filled with shorts and sneakers
and when they come to be kissed goodbye,
it is so simple to swallow them up.
That evening she sits with her husband
and sips cocktails. A month, he smiles
just the two of us. He stands to mix another round.
Where’s your glass? he asks.
I’m right here, she whispers back.
© 2006 Dale McLain
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