Matt Bryden

The Smile

I joined the factory to see women without their make-up. Her eyes were small

but her smile spread across her whole face. The fridge environment ruddied all

the girls' faces.

Talking with her, I found my shoulders slotted back naturally - I understood the

phrase 'put your shoulders back.'

Summer School

In the squash court,

which, when carpeted and filled

with desks becomes a classroom,

Jahan corrects my spelling --

replaces my 'Y' with a 'J'

which she pronounces 'G'.

Domenico gets up from his seat

and pulls the circular handle:

'They've locked the door.'

How could anyone be trapped

in so open a space?

I look up to the balcony

and the roof of the court.

My voice fights against

echo, the sound of impact.

Pulling Together

A pillow, nobody-at-home shoulders

and your father's room;

you forge a separate bed.

He in his English-proof assembly,

me with my tourist's guide to Germany

and an adage gleaned from skim-reading Anne Frank.

Or else you slept with your back pressed to me.

But for sharing a blanket

I would not meet your face.