The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2011

Muse

One day I'll be sitting here, staring at nothing, and he'll come slouching in and whisper in my ear. He'll pull me out of my chair, back me into a corner and kiss me. Before I know it, I'll be saying pretty words I didn't know I meant.

I don't want to. I'm still mad because he left so fast the last time. I was cooking, we were getting naked, I thought we'd even live together. But there were always others—men or women, he doesn't care. Commitment phobic. I should have known.

I've told myself there's no use thinking he's going to stand at the bottom of the stairs and yell Stella! like he has to have you and only you. To him you're plain Jane don't know my name carries a cane it's gonna rain. No sane person would put up with it. It's just you want someone who'll skip all the talk and get right down to it. Someone who'll get you to pour yourself out.

I don't like to admit it, but until the wine in the middle of the day, the shadowy bed, dappled flesh, drawing of the shade, the going inside your head to another place—everything else is treading water.

The time I've spent waiting for that bastard! The hell of it is, if he comes in and catches you mooning around thinking of him, he'll leave. You have to really not think of him. Daydream. Watch something. Try to think about something else.

Charlotte Muse