You had to have a birds’ eye view to see
the glass bowls were many, each with
its own gold fish, each looking out on the other.
Perspective weighed down by weightlessness, the
proverbial greener grass looking clean as water. Or smoky
as water, it was that perspective thing again. So each felt
stared down by the other, and others caught up in their own
Bowls that liven up a lonely woman’s life, bowls that hold another’s attention when nothing else does,
bowls that act as a muse to one
and bowls that are mere accessories in the
grand scheme compared to none.
But who was looking in on who? Confidence building on others’
secrets, bonds fortified over liquid promises of the alcohol kind, they
too in their own glass bowls.
Call it dinner with the girls, or a far more fashionable girls night
out, but its that perspective thing again,
when the stillness of the night
could only be compared to the quivering urgency of a
fish out of water.