Exposure

The woman across from me peers, fascinated,
at the mummy. She is trying to appear composed
but what she really wants to do
is touch it. The linen wraps would be dry and soft
as her own withered cheek
reposing under its make-up.

Outside, the air is still and cool as talc.
My car whispers home through forests of autumn.
All the furniture is rearranged.