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For Ecstasy |
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written
by sunyuh / 10.10.2005 |
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| The Ecstasy of Beata Ludovica Albertoni |
1 of 1 |
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Assignment |
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I’m pulling sentences out of tourists’ mouths. Never the whole phrase, or the story but dissected and broken parts of conversations. In Rome she is upset and crying. She’s holding onto a crumbled napkin taken from a gelatoria, soaked in pink residue. She takes the sentences quickly, as they look away.
The train was empty but he stared. He stuck his body out of the window and touched my arm. I thought he was whispering. I had no where else to place my eyes, you understand. He’s grabbed my hand before, first, through the stairs. I stood there. Waiting for the music to start or for my feet to awake. But he asked me to come and leaned his body back inside his seat, my waist through the opening. There were no sounds, no mumbles. No language and no touch. You understand.
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