Sulphur River Spring 1981 [antikvár]

Table for Two Last night, you brought the gypsies in. At first they were polite albeit rapacious stealing hungry sidelong glances that emptied the pantry- turning the containers on their ends, scattering the wrappings on the floor. We dispensed with the small talk and casually invited everyone to the table. At first there was an awkward hesitation. Then the leader put his fork to the back of an eager handthose long fingers, longer still in the shadows of a dazzling candlelight. You didn't seem to notice and poured the wine. In saluting our health, we lost track of the meal- the thyme on the lamb tasted like orientál perfume and the texture of the wild rice spoke in a thousand errant tongues. The din did not disturb anyone-not you or me or the millión gypsies who pressed against our elbows and our knees... that is until the entertainment began and tambourines coiranenced to clatter and violins resonated with doleful Slavic melodies and ribbons floated in the air and taffeta colors smothered all order of reason... If they had only taken the silverware or my jewels, I could have called the authorities. It was what they left behind that robs me continuously. . . Your eyes in my dinner plate... The vibrato of your voice against my hand... Your face in the window, the trees, the stars of my mind.. Karren L. Alenier