Unlike Ships In The Night

By Salena Casha

For their first date, he took her to see Turner at the Tate. A bit pretentious, perhaps, and anyway, there was someone else she was talking to on the apps who only replied to her texts late on Fridays. Good have options, she thought. But when she met him, she couldn’t stop staring at his forearms, the soft hair. Yes, she noticed the stormy greys and whites of the exhibit, the suspicion of sunrise, but also, his dilated pupils, a whirlpool.

After, he asked her what she thought.

She attempted nonchalance. Just boys in boats growing foggier over time.

Bit insensitive, he replied. Turner couldn’t see that well in his old age.

Reddening, she stuttered an apology until he laughed.

A joke, he said.

A harmless Christmas joke, they said simultaneously. It was July.

The twinned reference made them pause, look again: a seascapes still life of hearts, falling.

🩷🩷🩷

Salena Casha's work has appeared in over 100 publications in the last decade. Her most recent work can be found on HAD, Club Plum, and Carmina Magazine. She survives New England winters on good beer and black coffee. Subscribe to her substack at salenacasha.substack.com.