Emilia Phillips

for Gregory

On the edge of our window
            table, light through glass
                        refracts—two bottles. We break

bread & fill our saucers
            shallow, eat until on the street
                        below, a car hammerheads

into bicycle, rider's leg
            rag-wrung in aluminum
                        frame undertread. Squeal—

the brakes, & down
            the hood the body skids. Crack
                        & recoil—pavement. Driver

& his passenger
            unbuckle. The mussels
                        steam open. To your lips, you touch

your napkin, turn away. Inverted,
            the scene in the bottles
                        gleaming—vinegar, oil.