Contrary Magazine : Spring 2010

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      Sometimes, I place my hand upon her shoulder and leave it there. She likes that, she says.  She feels gently pressed to earth, she says, quietly seated into place.
There is the moment I embrace her from behind, in a grocery store or a parking lot, arresting her forward motion for an instant, clasping my hands along her stomach and easing her back toward me until my breath settles at her neck.... MORE


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     It was unusual to find her on the balcony the day she left, so early in the morning, still slumped into the baggy blue pajamas which always puddled at her feet. Her head was tilted toward a slab of spring sky between buildings, her arms clasped to her chest. It was strange to find her awake that early and outside; it was even more strange to find her still.

     Elisabeth is nearly always spinning; invisible gears, their teeth enmeshed, quietly engaging other gears, or receding to a simple rotating stem, a separate axis buried deep. There are times you can see it in her hands, if you know how to look, hands haphazard upon the table except for a fine move-ment in the fingertips which might be mistaken for a tremor or the absent fondling of a piano.