SUSAN STILES

the appointment

1.  It’s the waiting that wears on one. That,

                             and the silence. And,

of course, the sidelong glances. Not to mention

the music could use some improvement. Oh,

          and the luggage that never arrived.

                   Other than that, life is good, great,

even. It just runs its course, some say,

                                                like a river,

turning onto itself, emptying, far away, from

where it began.

2. Someone turned up the volume. It’s been

          years since that happened. These floors could

use a good sweeping, for sure, but who wants

                                      to make that a priority.

The weather person is working hard to determine,

which size hail will fall

                             on my street. I’m not home anyway,

and I really shouldn’t care, but I cannot take my eyes

off the screen.

3. Chocolate would be a nice addition. Or, at least,

                   a simple bowl of candy. I realize now,

that is confusing. The bowl itself does not need

                             to be simple. Just the candy.

The rain is falling in earnest now, steady. Commodus

          exiled several to Capri. Well, he had them killed.

But still. Capri. Imagine that, as your end point. I do have

a window, onto a parking lot.

4. The end of life is not the end of the world. It’s just latex

gloves and cerulean masks and glass cylindrical

                             containers, filled with turpentine.

Not turpentine, of course. Things change so

much in three months. The name on the tag is the

same. But surely, this is some other person. The city rings,

                                      it rings in alarms of threes,

and fours.

Susan Stiles lives in and writes about Croatia. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in such journals as The Lake, The Dalhousie Review, Innisfree, Slant, Panorama, and The Westchester Review. More info, including her blog “Letters from Rab,” is at susan-stiles.com.

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