Old maid skins new maid
October 30, 2010 § Leave a comment
Growth. Broth. Wrath.
I name each squirrel in the queue for monkey nuts. I break bread with Charles and Sienna and Lone Red and Benjamin.
The woman in my local lets me know that she bought the budgie for a fiver from the man who needed to score. He was allegedly as bare as floorboards. She swears. Sweeps the counter clean. Monkey nuts will do them, she grins.
I hurry home.
It is raining.
My screen is black; I switch it on.
“Time is an illusion. Time is a pianist who works as a postman, who works works works.
We get mail. We don’t see him dust keys at eight, when the door is as shut as his heart.”
I was blind before I knew I could see you seeing me.
You are my ceiling. I am your windowpane. I am rained upon. You are rarely seen.
My mother prays for me nightly.
I am too far gone.
I have faith only in the child who streams by outside, clutching her wand and battering the railings with her Barbie.
I will keep me warm, I insist. I will keep me going. Am I a fuel, or in need of fuel?
I would prefer to be neither. But times are hard for…