He points out that we are back where we started. It is 9:00 in the morning and we both have black coffee.
My dress has a stain on the front.
I tied a red scarf around my waist after buttoning. "Are you going to keep it that tight all day?" he asked. "This is my waist," I said. Daft. It is and it is not. This is my waist if I have not eaten yet. This is my waist if I refrain from chewing gum. This is my waist if I do not have my period. This is my waist if I have had enough water all day. When do I become me? I pulled the bow into a knot this morning and remembered how I could not unknot it the night before. Four hands couldn't loosen the shape of my image.
We are back where we started.
Is this where we started from or started at? One implies a departure, one implies a destination. One feels like taking a first step, the other a terminal. If a location is mobile it does not have fixed coordinates. If the coordinates don't stay put then the place cannot exist, can it?
How do you locate the truth in a memory of what didn't happen?
How do you chart a ship when its bow is spelled relation- and it's stern, no matter how kind.
The bow of a ship is where you tie the woman for décor. The smaller her waist the less rope wasted. The prettier her face the more lovely she'll be when you untie her and bring her back onto the deck, under the deck, into the cabin. Heavens have mercy should you be plundered by pirates. A pirate has a code, but no rules, and a woman is always ripe for taking. A woman is not a code, a woman is not a rule. Décor is meant to be attractive and to be attracted one must take away something, either a feeling or a memento: the richest are the most affected. Without a souvenir one has foregone a memory. To remember in French is the verb souvenir.
Bow, meaning the front end of a ship, comes from the Low German boog and Dutch boeg, meaning shoulder. Related is the Old English word bough, as if to stand on one's shoulders is to stand on the tree's boughs, strong enough in the trunk to support your weight. Or is it wait. Is it that the tree is supportive of you or has it only grown sternly?
How is it that the bough rooted to place is of the bow adrift with no location.
How is it that we fit onto the shoulders of others.
Tie a bow around your waste.
You're as precious as sunken treasure.