The Wife

“There is a slight scent of inertia in the air. She grabs the broom and sweeps the sand out of her house. It falls apart halfway through. She can’t be bothered to patch it up and puts the two pieces, handle and brush, in a corner. Their bedroom is where the sand manages to infiltrate best. Mysterious winds, under doors and window frames – where there is wear there is a way through. Mysterious matter, in constant motion, just like dust.”

“That night, she sleepwalks again in her nightdress. She walks barefoot onto the roof terrace and turns around slowly, her head and chest swaying under the handful of stars. Her arms spread out like wings. She goes back inside, croaking out a song that eventually wakes Vivian. He leads her gently back to bed.”