A Word for Living Creatures
- beginning with a line from Paul Celan's "The Meridian"
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…a cup holding your voice.
- Jean Valentine, “Twenty Days’ Journey”
We started to drink.
The barkeep didn’t
keep track of the tab.
One of us wrote
our number
on a napkin, maybe
a hand. It’s a blur.
The room is swirling
in colors: midnight
blue, crimson, gold.
You’re calling my name,
whispering in my ear -
I awake,
and you’re not here,
not here
or there.
You’re somewhere
I can’t see.
I raise the cup
from the bedside table,
almost believe
it’s holding
your voice.
I take a sip.
