The fan creaks in its slow arc
while the mosquito net billows out.
The room pressurized by an errant breeze
which brings no relief
only impossibly still heavy heat.
even my sweat moves slowly,
rolling, gaining volume, but no speed.
The room is golden with the reflection of the sun on the sand.
My post rum depression is sitting on my chest
making breathing an offering on the altar of Sol,
inhalation as supplication.
rolling out of my damp sheets
I lick the sea salt off my lips,
and hang my head under the tap
smelling, tasting the iron well water.
I search the eyes in the mirror
taking note of the webs of lines
spraying off their corners.
Silently I offer the question again.
So many times,
so many women,
so many mirrors.
that I have asked the eyes in the mirror in so many apartments, houses,tents,lodges,boats,deserts,beaches,forests,mountains,burned out buildings,job sites,park benches…
Are you happy?
In the other room,the blender bursts into life
she calls above the racket,
“you wanna floater in this, babe ? “
it starts as a crinkle
after all this time,
the eyes in the mirror smile too.
“Maybe ! “
I yell over my shoulder,
answering two questions in one.