Page 39 - Contrast1999

titl~d "Shame," by a new author, about how a young doesn't he? Or else melodramatic."
artist (an artist with words), had come upon his
mother and a taxi driver he knew in their bed to- ***
gether, "naked in duplicity," discussing the errant
and woebegone author. He went to read another And so the story came to is finality, and
part about his mother's cravings for affection to Eric retyped
be notl.ced by society, to be held as a "sloven' ly
whore to the mass of humanity that held wealth The hills were awash with blood.
above her head." Eric, watching the water run
d~wn his waders and form puddles at his feet, shiv- and left that paper in the typewriter and wondered
~nng from the cool mountain air that spoke of the why that it was so.
nnpen d'mg winter, and the closer snows to come
said, "The author appears to be somewhat manic: Photograph:

Tranquility

Robyn L. Hill

grey.

As I sit between the phone and my heart he clears his throat to the girl he does not
have and does not enjoy, though he likes to think so. It is not me. Enjoying the
thought of that he smiles to make the difference of what he has and what he
wants. I cannot be two women. only myself, which is more than he might ever
know unless he sees that truth shine inside my silent words. We know the world is
grey. Black and white and right and wrong are too easy to understand so we
~onlt. We find a joy in taking that as a truth to the world as a witness. But my heart
IS greyer than the smoke inside his lungs. My silver reminds me of that against an
Arizona ice tea and an inhale. What went wrong with the grey crayon on the box

of many colors?

A. A. Rupert