|
Comment on this
article
Sentinel
by Ellen Bass
Did he hear splashing
as he tossed his keys
on the counter, or was the deer
composed by then, on all fours, suds
swirling around its delicate
ankles like a person standing
in shallow surf? Or did it lower
itself like a sphinx, the line
of wet fur dark around its neck
trimmed with an Elizabethan
collar of foam? Perhaps,
when it felt the water
warm as sunshine, smelled the rose
scented froth, it leaned back,
resting the separate knobs
of its vertebrae on the plump
plastic cushion, relaxing
like a woman after a long
shift at work.
If so, did the man know
what to do? Did he pour two
gin and tonics, carry them
on the silver tray his mother
left him, along with a stack
of ecru towels, then sit
on the lid of the toilet
and ask about her day?
[New]
[Archives]
[Join] [Contact
Us] [Poetry
in Motion] [Store]
[Staff]
[Guidelines]
|