"Salem" by Sarah Sloat

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 burningdial it turns to slow-motion noir.Ceci n'est pas une pipe. This is a restoration.Because inhaling creates a short estrangementand exhaling is a way to put something back. Sarah J. Sloat grew up in New Jersey, and has lived for many years inGermany, where she works in news. Her poems have appeared inLinebreak, Court Green and Harper's Ferry Review. She keeps a blog atThe Rain in My Purse. (link: http://theraininmypurse.blogspot.com)