Víctor Bermúdez’s Reviews > Omeros > Status Update

But if it could read between the lines of her floor like a white-hot deck uncaulked by Antillean heat, to the shadows in its hold, the coffled feet scraping like leaves, and perhaps the inculpable marble would have turned its white seeds away, to widen
the bow of its mouth at the horror under her table, from the lyre of her armchair draped with its white chiton, to do what the past always does: suffer, and stare.