works by william pham, 2005-present
100x450 - 06 - in her steps i see a ghost
Everything had to be perfect for the party, for the voiceless faceless names lined up in ones, twos, and threes that would fill the room with their hipster bodies and dancehall quips. She moved between the kitchen and the parlor, moved like a ghost who barely remembered the waltz; she carried in napkins, knives, hors-d'oeuvres and the little toothpicks wrapped in colored cellophane.
She opened the refrigerator door and dropped the glass serving tray she was holding in her other hand. It crashed to the ground and bits of glass pierced her stockinged foot, but she barely remembered the waltz.
copyright (c) 2006 by william pham
photo credit (c) 2006 amie t dovinh