She uses it to talk with. To think with. To smoke.
A prop and an instrument, a necessity. Company.
Perfume is the least of it. It repurposes furniture.
Cantilevered on a dresser’s edge, like a burning
dial it turns to slow-motion noir.
Ceci n’est pas une pipe. This is a restoration.
Because inhaling creates a short estrangement
and exhaling is a way to put something back.
Sarah J. Sloat grew up in New Jersey, and has lived for many years in
Germany, where she works in news. Her poems have appeared in
Linebreak, Court Green and Harper’s Ferry Review. She keeps a blog at
The Rain in My Purse. (link: http://theraininmypurse.blogspot.com)