Three days with the covers pulled up to my chin, ears and eyes stuffed full of garbage, shutting out the possibility of naming my fear or leaving anything behind, generating limbo, creating quicksand, sinking sinking, floundering, then climbing out and finding a different kind of pause in the plump black shiny bodies of a pair of aubergines on the kitchen counters smiling as they wait for the the warmth of the oven, and before that the sharp pleasure of the knife slicing, and before that the cool stream of water sliding off their waxy skin, and before that the gentle awestruck caress of my hands.
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