We Dined At The Restaurant

you worked at to fund your grant
I combed your hair towards my ribs
the opposite way to where you were going

You spoke of Akil—he who uses reason
a new star        pinned to your lapel

the red diyas do little to mask
the blaze I’ve seen before

When you stepped off the runway
you could have been anybody

Some hours later it’s the first time words
sound like hiccups.

He tells me the down draught wrenched
your weekend rucksack          from his arms

& I picture that ochre imperfect
corona             meant for him              on a china cup

© Natalia Spencer 23.03.2016
Cover Image Rights Sean Gallup/Getty

 

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