Monday, June 27, 2011

37 things i am loving...

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...on my 37th birthday: gipsy music, chocolate cake, illegal scented roses, the summer heat, andrei zadorine, poetry, gentle breezes, swimming naked, crispy clean wind-blown white sheets, playing accordion, eyeore, baking bread, my children, dancing, adventures, new friends, inner quiet, chaos, home-made washing liquid, swooshing skirts, the unknown, french movies, raspberries, writing, men, blueberries, the rain, pakistani mangoes, old friends, the woods, high silvery grass, sex, field flowers, climbing trees, colette, women, rhubarb.

happy birthday to all of you also celebrating your mortality today!

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

in this one... (a fiction)

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in this one, the sun is shining. it's always shining, the sun of summer photographs. the river in the background is grey dark blue, it blends with the sky, and there are reeds sticking out on either side of my small fat body, turning me into a plump, rather startled lion cub emerging from the high grass of the savannah. i am wearing a striped shirt. horizontal stripes do not suit small plump people. the shirt is loose, yet stretches oddly in the middle, where my tummy would be. i am wearing this striped shirt and not much else besides. my mouth is pouting, my eyes squinting, almost shut, against the glare of the sun.

i can tell that it's you taking the photograph by the resistant, resigned patience of my body. the sun is hurting my eyes. the grass is scratching my legs. where my thighs meet, at the top, they stick together with sweat. my tata is taking a photograph. i am thirsty. don't move, you said. i am hungry. don't move, you said. beyond the black eye of the camera, i can see the infinite stretch of the dark pine forest. no breeze. the river is gurgling in my back. right behind you, there is shade, and coolness, and the sweetness of pine scent. don't move, you said. don't move. so i don't. i stand there, sweaty, uncomfortable, blind. the way i will stand in the world for many, many years to come.

until one day, i'll forget, and i will move, i will run, in a body so lean and so supple i will barely recognize it as my own. i will run straight past you and your black, scrutinizing, unforgiving eye, into the forest where the wolves are waiting to play with me.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

poppies

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they grow. between the railway tracks, along the high and low ways, on lost allotments. in all the spaces with no name, the spaces in between the labels. bright, oblivious. hopeful. they grow.

Friday, June 17, 2011

apoptosis

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Keep walking, though there’s no place to get to.
Don’t try to see through the distances.
That’s not for human beings.
Move within, but don’t move the way fear makes you move.

Rumi

Sunday, June 05, 2011

angel

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dabbling in the tarot lately. last night, before going out, i pulled the death card. end of cycle. transformation. regeneration. then i went out, the church bells rang, the guitars wept, and the past rose up to meet me face to face. there is no such thing as 'dabbling' in the tarot.

and the little ant climbs the foot of the angel of death.
to her, it looks just like any other stone.

Saturday, June 04, 2011

doll house

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for a few days of a few weeks of a few months, i live in a very little house. there are roses on the wardrobe. squirrels in the window-sill. cool blood-stained sheets on the bed. a tree to sit in. old graves to stamp on. doors to bang so hard the paint falls off. a shower so hot it will wash away any pain. a wooden floor to twirl on. silence, and music, and real darkness at night.

it's perfect. but it's a doll house. and i am not a doll.

Wednesday, June 01, 2011