‘…this
fear,
an
ever-present awareness of yet another intimate failure
is
simmering, fast approaching boiling point inside
the steam
rises – a mixture of bubbles and aura smoke rings like mini-Saturns from the
brightly glowing, pulsating lump of lava that has nestled itself far too
comfortably where my third chakra should be
accompanied
by the wretched stench of disappointment
with a
hint of words you can never forgive someone for saying
it is my
breath of life
I watch what I’m wearing, mind what I say
aware that I might find you high again today…
I haven’t
forgotten the last time I sat in this courtyard
breathing
in Nag Champa and blowing out self-esteem
watching
as it dissipated in front of my face
no
strength to draw it back in
[and yet
I savour the droplets that hang from your words
carved
out of ice and lined up like the natural progression of things on your front
fence]
today, I
spread out 10 yellow towels on the soft spring grass
one for
every year between our ages
(although
for no particular reason other than that’s just how it is)
I found
my favourite black marker and I covered them all with the things I’d be gaining
and those I’d be giving up
no
attention paid to which was the greater
nor pause
to listen to my inner voice – screaming
warning
me to not let the darkness in
I just
wrote them
hung them
on the clothesline in the sun to dry
and
stared at them until my eyes went out of focus
I watch what I’m wearing, mind what I say
aware that I might find you high again today
& one little piece of insignificant information
could be the end of it…’
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