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Your Invitation to a Modest Breakfast
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44 It’s too cold to smoke outside, but if you come over, I’ll keep my hands to myself, or won’t I. I would like to tell you about the wall eaten up by the climbing plant—it was so beautiful. Various things have been happening to me, all of them sexual. The man on the bus took off his pants so I could see him better. Another man said, “Ignore him darlin’. Just sit on my lap.” But I’m not one of those who’s hungriest in the morning, unlike the man at the bakery who eats egg after egg after egg. Listen. Come over: the cold has already eaten the summer. I need another pair of ears: from the kitchen I can’t tell if I’m hearing wind chimes or some gray woman with failing arms dropping a pan full of onions and potatoes. This morning I need four hands— two to wash the greens, one to lift a teakettle, one to pour the milk. This morning, one little mouth will not do. We could play a game hannah gamble Your Invitation to a Modest Breakfast 45 where we crouch on the tiles, two yellow dogs drinking coffee from bowls. We could play a game where we let the breakfast burn. Outside there’s a world where every love scene begins with a man in a doorway; he walks over to the woman and says, “Open your mouth.” ...