Theory

THEORY / Sharon Bryan That monocle in the middle, the silent O, gives you something to look into and out of, a windowsill to rest your elbows on while you watch the parade, you can feel the drum's vibrations all the way up here, the tremor in the flag-bearer's thighs, sweat in the trumpeter's armpits— that's the trouble, it's all so vivid, what's to be gained by dragging your two left feet down there, into the fray, even if you're hungry for love, your eyes are always bigger than your stomach for it, the aroma of soup can sometimes fill you up— your theory is full of holes, open mouth, enlarged eye—look out, look out, a rowdy child is writing with her damp finger on the glass: O I C U R M T The Missouri Review · 29 ...