A Collection of City Thoughts

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Sullen City Sleepwalker

I am watching your hands as you speak to me. Something about getting the hell out of Toronto. Something about sullen, city sleepwalkers. Lots of "screw its" I can hear.  I am nodding my head in silence, because I feel you. And of course, I don't want you to go. But of course, you will anyhow. So I am watching your hands. How your gangly fingers flit about punctuating your aggression. How your nails look like half-moons. How the hair on your knuckles is darker than the hair on your head.  If I never see you again, your hands are what I'll remember. Because I don't remember faces. Not even the ones I've kissed and held. I am not sure why that is. Except that maybe dreams distort faces. And I rarely dream of hands. So I am storing yours in my brain right now. Along with the other hands of people whose faces I cannot remember.