Marilyn L. Taylor

A reflection on my students They are so beautiful, and so very young they seem almost to glitter with perfection, these creatures that I briefly move among. I never get to stay with them for long, but even so, I view them with affection: they are so beautiful, and so very young. Poised or clumsy, placid or high-strung, they're expert in the art of introspection, these creatures that I briefly move among— And if their words don't quite trip off the tongue consistently, with just the right inflection, they remain beautiful. And very young. Still, I have to tell myself it's wrong to think of them as anything but fiction, these creatures that I briefly move among— Because, like me, they're traveling headlong in that familiar, vertical direction that coarsens beautiful , blackmails young — the two delusions we all move among.

She turns the bedlamp on. The book falls open in her mottled hands, and while she reads her mouth begins to quiver, forming words like Breathless. Promises. Elope. As she turns the leaves, Eudora's cheek takes on a bit of bloom. Her frowzy hair thickens and turns gold, her dim eyes clear, the wattles vanish from her slender neck. Her waist, emerging from its ring of flesh, bends to the side. Breasts that used to hang like pockets rise and ripen; her long legs tremble. Her eyes close, she holds her breath— the steamy pages flutter by, unread, as lover after lover finds her bed.