Sophie Abrahams (sestina)

Maire Fisher

Sophie Abrahams lives with her cat, Midnight.
Each evening she draws the curtains
and falls asleep, with Midnight purring beside her.
Sophie hugs her pillow. As she dreams
her eyelids flicker. Sometimes she sighs;
sometimes she cries out in a strangled voice.

Men are enthralled by Sophie's voice.
It smoulders over the phone, sultry as midnight.
Rich with promise and punctuated by soft sighs,
it fuels illicit imaginings behind closed curtains,
then returns to haunt their furtive dreams.
Each of her callers has a private picture of her.

Sophie works from nine to four. The hours suit her.
She sits in comfortable chair, wraps men in her voice
and whispers, "Tell Sophia your dreams."
Breathless, they swashbuckle in. Day turns to midnight
as they leap the balustrade, part the fluttering curtains
and fall upon Sophia. Ravished, she sighs.

Sophie walks home, her footsteps tired sighs
on the narrow city streets that lead to her
cosy flat with plump pink cushions and floral curtains.
Once she believed a man whose voice,
hushed as his wife slept, woke her after midnight.
He left Sophie smiling, hugging her dreams.

Hope still simmers on a patient flame. Her dreams
of Mr Right shrivel the night with longing sighs.
In her sleep she reaches out and touches Midnight.
He stretches and arches his seal-soft back under her
questing hand. The low rumble of his voice
wakes her. She gets out of bed and opens the curtains.

Neon lights reflect on her face. The curtains
move in a breeze as soft as her dreams.
Sophie hums a love song in a smoky voice,
then turns from the window with the smallest of sighs.
The rose-papered walls close in on her.
The fluorescent dial of her clock flashes midnight.

In her midnight bed, behind the close-drawn curtains,
Sophie Abrahams returns to her wedding-day dreams.
She shifts, sighs, calls out in a small strangled voice.

LitNet: 9 December 2004

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