She woke beneath a kitchen table. There was dust on the lino and snow on the rooftops. But now the snow had stopped falling. She was wearing someone else’s jumper. Heavy, handwoven, Hebridian sky blue with daisy motif. She stared at the yellow woollen stamen, white perfect petals, the blue. She pretended it the morning sun, the clouds, the sky. A pair of bare legs passed the table. The feet thick in hippy sock. The back of those legs at the worktop. Kettle whistle, unseen steam. The coffee smelled like grave earth. The front of those legs underside of table. A carefree voice, you want coffee?
Unless there’s someone else down there.
A woman, humming a simpleton’s air. The tune was one for daisies against a blue morn. She breathed the legs beneath the table and gazed their length, wondered the shadow. At one point and for no known reason, a socked foot began to blindly pet the side of her face. She turned and nuzzled it. And daring all, slid a hand to its hem and removed it and cupped it and started to kiss the white foot quite thoroughly from toe to toe to sole to ankle.
and when i sleep, luella [vi/xii] ©2019