6 posts tagged “photography”

We stood in line, backed up onto Fort St, like we did do
queuing for 'our table' in the Blue Fox.
Over dark, nearly bitter coffee
stirred with distraught
laced with angst
we held
up.

Remember, you called crying, "Can we have lunch, sis?" You said. I listened, pushing Eggs Benedict from one side
of the plate, to the next. "He won't clean the toilet" You said. I wanted to laugh, and later we did, but not then, when you were tired and teary, wading in shit, fed up with it, freezing to the bone, in his latest logic-free-zone.

The toilet. For Christ's sake.

Absurd.
A stupid conversation. An
unworthy fight. We decided unilaterally
ringing the death bells of your relationship, while
ordering a second cup of coffee, from a waitress, distressed
as you, who was adjacent the kitchen, crying in the back alley
over toilet fiascoes, or other mishaps. Perhaps calling a friend to the Blue Fox,

"Sis, can we have lunch?"

Akin to children, we play love
Here in our sandbox, manipulating toys
Gobbling goodies, side X side

Advancing from solitary, to lateral

… Dimensions
 
Bigger girl.
Bigger boy.
Bigger game.

You, sheltered by your reality,
Me, locked into mine,
We play. In parallel

Fantasies …

Your head, my sand shovel
CRACK!
Anything to break this spell
Or, draw first blood.

The poem is the point at which our strength gave out.
Richard Rosen


I do not trade in
Beginnings      middles      ends
Such trinkets lurk or linger
Elsewhere. Find them for
Yourself.

~ * ~

The room at the end of it,
Is a forest, certainly. Sentinels
live there, who long for my skin
 And carve their initials upon it.
Like a miracle, I am made visible.

Afternoon light is perfect for reading
White rooms, which are dead, quiet
But whisper     like haunting     like
Memories      like time       like pages
Like you     Like I could     ever     forget.

I sleepwalk through another room.
On a starless night, the snow is
Endless, the sky unforgiving.
Desire freezes upon my cheeks
The way tears do.

This room, pulses with probabilities
Call it ours  Call it home    Call it    like it is
The radiator is on the fritz.
Like blood now and then,
We go cold.

"The wildish woman can pretend to live 'an ordinary life" while gritting her teeth, but there is always a price to pay."
~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With The Wolves


There is no ambivalence
I wrap the blindfold round -
swathe the cage
so the birds cease singing.
This... shrouding
is necessary.
It is imperative.
Mine are eyes who chatter
too much. Too much!

I must sleep,
I am very tired -
even my bones yawn.

There is a way of touching which honors our fragility - the vulnerability of be-ing.