Cassandra Dream

In this story I am Cassandra and you are deaf.

I agonize over gestures, the sand dripping mockingly
through the waist of the hourglass. Time rushes ahead
in direct proportion to the urgency of my message.
I try to breathe and slow down, but there’s no fooling
Apollo, so naturally, tragedy ensues.
And you smile and laugh in merry silence,
raising your drink to the innkeeper,
reveling even as Troy begins to burn.