by Carole Maso
"...And When she saw him embracing himself for warmth,
she moved quickly to heat the water for some tea.
The sky was fibrous and giving like burlap and
she could smell the decay that
settled near Abington only when blood was spilled, and
the blood came from this bleached slave, a man with
a bull neck, but with the limbs of a gazelle. She knew
him as Moose as only the moose shared his build. His
lips were full and agitated and they worked together
like he was saying something she couldn't hear
‹ and she wanted to hear something besides the sucking
of his balloon cheeks.
She made him drink a little from the bowl, then he
fell asleep. As she sat next to him, sipping from
her cup, she traced the thick dry burn-scabs, as pasty and
puffy as Elmer's glue, that appeared to drip down
his back and sides, following their furrows until
her blunt finger came upon the heavy lashes across the spine.
When she touched the deep grooves, bathed in
brown medical ointment, he shuddered and rolled
onto his stomach and tossed away the light quilt
to expose a body that looked to her like marbled steak:
an expanse of tight black skin cut by white fatty
striations. The air must have cooled him because
he finally started to mutter under his breath something
both unidentifiable and distinctly human.