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Conversations I ascend stone steps Fresh memory sounds: my steps - your front walk, why I am here? Who is this woman? Is she starved for attention or just curious to discover new land? Slip out of: shoes; next to yours, in the foyer, next to the chair clothes; folded, on the shelf, in the downstairs’ bath (you, are not at home) I tie a kimono,(the one from Japan) on warm, bare flesh – cool silk Upstairs, the washer is running. I toss black panties in - into your darks; watch them sink below the water and wrap around your shirt . . . Outside, in the cold I ease into the hot tub Turn on – the jets; foot and back massage and the one, we jokingly call, Steve Snow geese pass overhead, eyes follow miniscule dots Breathwaiting, sipping water, wiping my brow I twist and tie damp hair in a knot at the nape of my neck - feeling something Anticipation? I can’t decide who this woman, I am, is Silently you arrive - suddenly appear before me You also wonder, who we are, this foreign woman and man? What are we doing? Have we lost our direction? Without a script or a manual, how can we fix this? How do we know if it’s broken? Deborah Russell