Synopsis #1
by Eileen R. Tabios

There are keys to everything, even handcuffs. [Why remember Catullus for his scurrilous invective?] I am at my loneliest, the postcard says, when I see a mirror and you’re not raising a hand to wipe away my tears. [I recall the rain in Burgundy, its warmth washing the slate path towards Anne Gros’ winery.] His first love unexpectedly sits at the next table and both discover, after ten years, rancor’s evaporation. [The t-shirt pronounces its wearer to be a VIRGIN! (but that’s become such a 20th century sentiment).] He disappears into a gnat at the rim of my vision as I wonder whether sweat can be dishonest. [Otherwise, falling would not hurt?] Right under your nose, a trip wire leers as it hides in the shimmer of heat. “Billy is deaf,” I oil her hackles. [What is an artist without a desecrated battleground?] I was cruel to a young lady from the barrio, labeling her “Maid.” [She folds into sadness—that he would not think to consider her in another way.] The bottle became empty, and another day gave way. [The fire erupted like a poem.] She is a redhead but dandruff remains white. [As he strides down the path, stones clatter from his tread]. Under his left eye, he has a scar that people never see but recall in memory. [Once, a famous painter whispered, “When you see the glass, you do not see its transparency.”]

—from ROMAN HOLIDAY (Naissance, Kingston, PA, 2009). http://chapbookpublisher.com/shop.html

© Eileen R. Tabios

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