Academic journal article Hecate

Communion

Academic journal article Hecate

Communion

Article excerpt

Communion

I did not choose to eat alone, but the dinner waits, company enough. The scent of sambal at the door fills my mouth with saliva. I smell cinnamon and sweat. The chatter in the room clothes me. One chair at the table. One flower in the vase. Hold my mind, a single voice, pausing, and moving. A single voice edging along paths, overlapping itself as it moves back, stopping. The waitress moves through the people like she is dancing, holding jugs of iced water. She has smooth brown skin. She brings the wine, it is tart, wrenching my mouth, I smile, tongue alive. My fingers trace the menu. There is one voice inside me and one thought I will try to follow. I hold it like I hold the edge of the table. I think it is a memory, as I am thinking it, or an echo. I take my shoes off, the thought is there the same way my feet rest on the ground, gentle boundaries of skin and floor. I wait for my order, hands on the table, on cold glass, against my skin, I touch the pulse in my neck, stroke my hair. The food she gives me is hot and is on a white plate. I take the fork to my mouth in a gentle arc. I eat and the sauce splatters across my dress. The thought escapes. I have been left alone.

Do they watch me, the woman alone at the table, like I watch them? …

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