Tinder Says, “It’s a Match” / Her
I put down my beloved copy of Antigone
& roll across the bed’s wrinkled sky
until she is in my hands.
My phone wakes with her
it’s only the 10th or 11th time
these fingers linger upon
this French translation, gifted to
a girl learning the rules of language,
parsing the difference between
what sounds good and feels right,
et juste comme ca, un autre fille
wears the earth as her crown.
I imagine how the thought of me
first thing in the morning moved her.
Below, a siren answers its own call,
parting Brooklyn traffic with the threat
of conscience or fine. I take my time,
summon her words with my touch,
her face on my phone erases my grip
on decency, the way a finger on a screen
can be anything you want it to be. What
is love, if not extended, mutual fantasy,
like that year I found myself
with those denim-clad monks, plying
the sunrise with songs & candles,
every morning, before dawn, chanting
on a dark Vermont mountain
I return to, only in meditation, waiting
like the sky, to be broken by someone
who believes each beginning and ending
About the Creator
Omotara James is the author of “Song of My Softening,” from Alice James Books. A multidisciplinary artist, she creates as a means to preserve joy, confront the past and free herself of it.
Follow @omotarajames & inquire at omotarajames.com
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