she pulled at a rib of her corset as she flipped a higher strength lens to magnify her jewelers’ gadgeted eye. one emerald squinting; the hazel focused serene. her laced brown boot tip kicked away a cat to scatter oriental carpet dust high, a sepia tone swirl into sunbeams that choke. rusty belts nailed to a tapestried chair held my hands tight. time pieces seemed my waking theme, for i could not discern the time. hour of day. . . yes!  light’s memory held it to be afternoon ~ three; but, when? not of my era or surroundings known. i was bound but not gagged. testing breath i pushed out a swollen bottom lip and blew up to relieve an itch releasing a surprisingly now gray curl of my own hair. she begrudgingly met my glance and lowered it with a gaze. before my cloth bandaged knees and legs stood a tarnished brass music stand supporting a most familiar attic scented book. a dog eared page marked the last successful sentence, uninterrupted, i had read. we met eyes; her body nearly planked, bursting but seated, disassembled and recreated timepieces of every kind. simultaneously she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, lowered the cleft of her chin, and pointed with her eyes to my book. clearing her throat in a sectarian tone, she indicated my task as she returned to her own, rearranging time. i felt relief, not bondage. pages lilted to turn as completing dispensation of their sage. so caught was i in the pure delight of the read, i scarcely noticed an angry buzz of intermittent sound. when affording a break in my literary travel, i spared a peripheral glance to a crude wooden stool in the corner of this coyly papered room. source of this interuption? curious, stools rarely simmer vibration. my attention remained until the intruding noise was ascertained. a shiny flat metallic box flashed and vibrated angry, inane. memories came flooding back. a faster time when my same leather bound book called to my only hunger, words. Vivaldi nor baubles could fill my void. i had wished for only time, a time past to be with the penned renowned. a time before this box flashed texts, friend requests, likes, unread messages, and tweets to discern and define. i longed for endless pages, even scrolls of papyrus, just knowledge not nonsense. i saw the box on the stool was unfettered, while my own hands remained the blame. the timekeeper tapped a booted toe, swayed a stockinet thigh, and straightened her bustle on a wiry cushioned chair. i smiled as the box exploded unrelieved, filling itself, hopefully to smoky oblivion, with all that is told with no need to be known. i spied her as with Cheshire she smiled back to me. the book luminesced as I left her eyes to devour another page.  








 © ruth follmann