Sat, 21 Jan 2012 00:07:39 GMT - Place_along the Kabul River_Jan 2012 114 Views |  Comments (3)
« previous by CaseyJ

Image no. 1 from the series 'Kabul in Winter'

negative 9 degrees celsius and not a care in the world

***

The Writer

She was standing alone near the
cocktail table when someone
came up. "Hi," he smiled.
"Hello." A brief exchange...then,

"What do you do?" he asked.
"I write," she answered.

Writing legs, knees,
arms, fingers, writing eyes.

She had said it with
such vehemence he decided not
to ask more as she went on.

"I catch at images: toast crumbs, say,
caught in mid-fall, explode on
contact or ride missed trains.
Nobody knows where the trains
were going but everyone
was missing them.

Somewhere tomorrow is etching
a crumb tattoo on midnight's
naked back, while caterpillars spin
gracefully around the ice cap..."

He listened for a minute,
looked at the ceiling,
and soon drifted away.

Then, "O missed train,
take me with you wherever
you're going," she murmured
in the crowd, and nobody
heard it but me.

Dorothea Tanning, from Coming to That