He finally left and she laid still in the bed. The goings-on of last night left her with a restless and unfitful sleep. Not restorative. When he sat in the kitchen with his morning coffee, she kept her eyes closed, pretending she wasn’t awake, She didn’t want to have to look at him, look him in the face. She didn’t want to listen, and be expected to respond.
The day now loomed- many hours until he’d return. She dragged herself to the kitchen, hands over her face to shield the sun streaming through the windows. The street below bustled with morning activity, the neighborhood on its way to work. Shopkeepers were pulling up their gates, the aroma of that great french bread wafted up through the windows.
I’d love to go down there, she thought.
I won’t do that, I’m too unkempt.
Her back ached, her MIND ached, and she stopped to lean against the counter. Rubbing her face her only nagging thought was how this would end.
I’ve come apart here.
Her knees gave way and she slumped down on the cool, tiled floor. She couldn’t help want a piece of that bread.
PHOTO BY: Marie Sjostrom