Old maid skins new maid

October 30, 2010 § Leave a comment

Cold.

Stairwell.

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.

Cold.

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…

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