Lindsey Jordan (partnered with Tara Meister)

Dinner with A Family I Just Met, Across the Table from the Daughter About My Age

I struggle to art-
ic-
ul-
ate the words, which,
like tumbling wat-
er, fall over
rocks
and move stones
down a
nar-
row slit
in my lips. If you only
knew what the curves
I drew with my hands
meant, the little
faded purple I waved
just over your
head and the
dappled
texture I pulled forward
onto the table between us.
But there is glass
in the air adjoining —
a partition— and so, then,
where did it come from
and from which window
is the sun streaming in
that bounces off of it
so I see
my own
image
and not yours at
all, except in that vague,
shifting outline
of green
and lavender.