Two stories inspired by the poetry of Elizabeth Bishop

She Herself was Gone

Please promise me, she said, to be there, on that certain balcony, she said. I will, he said, my love, he said. And you? Talk to me, she said, of fish and bread and tea, she said, and he, seeing her eyes shadow and her wires drip and droop, spoke of Earl Grey and Dover sole, foccaccia, ciabatta and more of these, but still explosions were in her fingertips and she would not calm. That certain balcony, she said, growing ever larger in her angst, and what could he do but promise again? I will be there, my love, he swore, and swooned inside at how she needed him. But inside her, she knew the feeling, to be lost and falling, lost and falling. She saw, inside her, that certain balcony and the certainty of non-arrival. So she said, stop now, she touched his face, she turned her head and so he left. And when he left, she turned again, and knew that she herself was gone.

Of Fish and Bread and Tea

Sitting on a certain balcony, I noticed, from below, small still explosions of colour, and I thought to you, as if you could hear me, how beautiful. But you were off, lost, on purpose gone to be lost, and you had tuned me out. I had thoughts then, of fish and bread and tea and comfort, legs curled on sofas, and thoughts of you and me, but a balloon, its wires drip drip dripping into the sky, passed by, and I saw it as a sign from you that your back had turned to me. So I got up, and walked around the balcony for moments, before the balloon sailed and the colours below faded, and I turned my back as well and went inside.