the romantic

"there are scars on my hands"
she says, looking down at her fingers
twisting together in her lap.
she raises one hand, as if to point them out.
instead she touches her face.
"and on the backs of my eyes,
where i see every stupid or wrong thing
i've ever done.  over and over."
the fingertips of her right hand press her lips briefly,
then drop to her lap to join her left.
they pull at each other, nervously, 
while her face looks on, faintly puzzled
as if the movement of her hands is 
something going on outside of her self,
not a part of her.
her left hand escapes the battle
and touches the pulse point at the base of her throat.
"and on my heart.  in little bits of tissue death.
for every time i haven't fallen in love."
she presses her palm to the upper part of her sternum,
feeling her heart beating, slowly, steadily.
she extends her arm, then checks its movement,
turning a flourish into a pose that she holds
for six heartbeats before she returns it
to its restless place.  then, with both hands
she pushes the hair out of her face and stands.
half-turning, as if to leave, she pauses
to push her chair in before going out the door.

					Kelly J. Cooper
					Saturday, 10/5/91, 1:39am
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