"...Who told you?"
"Who'd you tell?"
FFM Day 10: Toothache.The water that flows in from the glass is a tide coming into a cove. It breaks against the perimeter and the low ceiling in splashes, swirls in eddies around the hollowed-out spaces which are in the gradual constant of being worn down. Soon, the water slowly drains to the back of the cove and out of sight.
Sometimes the water that flows in from the glass recedes, expelled suddenly by some heaving force, a groundswell; whatever the motion, I'm made aware of all the spaces and niches where the water seeps through. There are lichen clinging to the stalagmites and stalactites of the cove, and they recoil as they are doused with a wash of cold tinged with salt. Shrinking back, they try to break into the hard surface that is the host for their parasitism, reverberating ache, threatening eventual collapse.
FFM Day 6: Istra.Day 0: The moon disappears from its place outside the house.
The following morning I decide that the windows need washing. I take care of the one in my room first, and then my sister's, and then the bathroom, so no one will think it's anything but a general cleaning. The window in the hallway upstairs needs the most work; it's become smudged with finger grease and dirt.
My sister comes up sometime early afternoon. "Istra," she says. "I have someone I want you to meet."
She stands at the top of the stairs while I rub at a stubborn bit of grime that has stuck near the sill. While I wet the rag I am using into the shallow basin of water at my feet, I say, "Does it have to be right this moment?" and rub at the glass pane determinedly. Because if it's a new partner or one of mother's guests I at least want to wash my hands and pull my hair back again, even if it's for the only five minutes I'll ever see this person.
"Yes," she says, in a way that has always managed to get under my skin, som