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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 1, March 2018

Gary LeBel
Cumming, Georgia, USA


Somewhere in my mind
a desire is being launched
like a U-boat
without a sound . . .

While she brushed her hair before her vanity's mirror, she looked up at his reflection now and then as he removed the soiled bed sheets. When he snapped the fresh ones out and floated them over the bed, she watched him keenly as he folded and tucked their corners in ever so neatly, smoothing out every remaining wrinkle with the flat of his palms and leaving the light-blue comforter as taut as a drumskin.

          "Did you make your little bed up every morning when you were a child?" she asked, catching his eyes in the mirror.
           Meeting hers he said, "Of course," then looked down to assure himself that the bed was made to his satisfaction, and slipping the two pillows into their matching deep-blue pillowcases, he fluffed and arranged them.

          "Well, what a fastidious little boy you were," she said, laughing.
          "The devil is in the details, no?"

When he finished, he walked up behind her and slipped his hands beneath her hair and stroked her shoulders gently. As her long red tresses flowed over his hands and wrists, he smiled admiringly, if a little smugly, at her reflection. She stopped her brushing and studied him from the glass until he spoke.

"I'm still that boy," he said.
"That's why you're here," she said.
"I think he knows," he said.



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