Recent Post
@metatronpress

- 5 days ago

RT @emmasheinbaum: ahhhh thrilled to share that @metatronpress published my short & sweet poem today as part of their MicroMeta series! 💖💖…
h J R
@metatronpress

- 5 days ago

RT @natasha__young: my essay "Daddy Issues" from issue 125 of @believermag on @saskiavogel 's beautiful bdsm novel Permission, Jacques Laca…
h J R
@metatronpress

- 6 days ago

RT @OpenBookON: We're excited to share the 1st entry by new columnist @Shazia_R, who you'll know as one of our WIR superstars, & the author…
h J R
@metatronpress

- 7 days ago

RT @yyzachary: "There is love in never throwing old tickets, notes, or anything at all away— Every twinned scrap an artefact to be revered,…
h J R
Archives

OMEGA | Klara Du Plessus
2509
post-template-default,single,single-post,postid-2509,single-format-standard,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,qode-theme-ver-6.3,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-5.0.1,vc_responsive

Klara Du Plessus

11 Aug Klara Du Plessus

THE PRAGMATISM OF A GIRL ENTERING A ROOM, DRYING HER HANDS / THE EROTICISM OF A GIRL DRYING HER HAIR, HEAD BENT

 

Contrary to common belief, hair cannot get wet. I wash with my head bent forward
beneath the faucet, sweeping the flow of hair forward into the stream, abstracting the
nape to a line. The lines of my hair all singular. Collectively immersed in water, there
is a wetness, but still each hair, taken separate, is solid. Solids dissolve, do not let water
pass through them. It is the division between strands then, which is wet, and creates the
illusion that hair drench. Same with a shirt. It is the spaces between the threads I clean.

Mother on the phone:

Know my panic for t-shirts, she says.

This is a bad time, I say.

Small necks, she says.

Can I phone you back, I say.

You know how I’ve been searching, she says.

So hard to find, I say.

We’ve been wrong all along.

What, I say.

We just haven’t been right.

No way.

Lower necklines are better, she says.

I can’t wait to see it, I say.

I just decided to try it, she says.

How low.

Come over and see.

After all the years, I say.

Lower but not cleavage, she says.

The old shirt you gave me.

I wish you wouldn’t wear it.

There’s still a little extra button sewed on inside.

I love you.

More Recent Posts