The Adirondack Review

Sabine Brigette

I really want that rice milk behind her shoulder
I'd like to stride through these aisles
full leg length without stopping
but the word Ni--iice among others
clamors and bangs along
the skins of the vegetables
both brown
look from one to the other of mine
I look to the milk again
I don't know what they want
it's not small
it blocks the aisle
what I want is 64 oz. in nondescript white and blue
I don't have time for this with
Virginia Woolf propped open on my bed at home
like a child that has wanted someone to look at her
all day
her eyes weight on me, and so
I arrive in this spot in this aisle
in my two black boots making puddles that will record
this event
she speaks
of all the things not happening in this aisle
all the people who are other than here
and then upon seeing my eggs
it becomes essential for her to know if
I know
a woman named Clara whose last name has apparently
changed and
she says how it's nice to know where your eggs come
but I don't know Clara
(and these aren't her eggs, they're Pam's)
it is here that I make for the milk--
leave the celery behind and
blow out the door as if in a wind I thought would
never come
and then
I lean,
lean my whole back
back of head
against the wall outside
hugging my eggs
and milk
like I mean it, like they know I'm
not cut out for this.

Sabine Brigette is a poet from Montana.  She writes when bothered.  The world of humans daily baffles her. This is what her poetry explores.   Watching,thinking, and pressing upon the world as she can require her constant effort to sweep the dust off which always settles again.  She welcomes discussions at This poem is her first published.  She is also having a second published in
Scotland's Red Wheelbarrow December 2006.