72 292
Claudiu Komartin
72
Something Happens There
you hear her scratching at the door, cleverly begging,
short, halting breaths, to be welcomed in, and someone
kindly asks you to allowher, “look, she’s beating herself against
the door,”
but you know what this means, what hides
behind her charm, and you don’t fall for it,
your thought runs for vineyard slopes, in the light
of August, large clusters, translucent flesh,
you invoke this memory and try to stay
clung to her for a while, glasses start
spilling all around you, chairs yield the floor
to a fashionable dance, with a shoe
someone pushes shards under the rug, others yelling about
a miracle cure, “all this constitutes the atmosphere
throughout,” you learned late that the rules change as they
go,
“who could have anticipated the horror” (she’s scratching and
pacing angrily
on the other side, awaiting your moment of weakness),
you approach the mirror and appear bored, like you’d seen
any other thing fleeing
h a n d s e y e s c h e s t