five days in me,
scarlet – aching and craving
four weeks in me,
mourning and joyous and raw
nine months in me,
painful and uncomfortable and extraordinary
living even-keeled in odd numbered days
enjoying the comfort of Friday on a Tuesday night
I was drowning in search of the right name-tag
woman mother girlfriend daughter
daughter girlfriend mother woman
girlfriend woman mother daughter
as if all words aren’t mere bubbles underwater.
now I’ve torn away the seaweeds that clung to my ankles
and gasp for breath, hoping to resurface-
is there anyone there?
go ahead and avert your gaze now,
the show is over.
these studio walls are nothing more than a blank space.
all that is left of the deluge are
words with no meaning
canvases with no smears of colour
and somewhere in this chaos,
maybe even undeniable traces
hidden somewhere on
the east coast of Africa
they sat and stared
at the moonlit sand
shoulder to shoulder
(just puff puff pass
the night away)
moon looming over
with no soundtrack
but bated breaths and
silent notes of camaraderie
slivers of smoke lining the dark crystal sky,
infinite reality ran above them,
twinkling and taunting
no wonder they stared.
what was tonight? nobody knew
what was tomorrow? nobody cared
sand against bare backs
moisture against tired limbs,
they puffed and they passed time.
Ponderings of A Six Year Old
My mother would weep every night
cleaning dirty dishes after dinner
while my father would storm out in a fit of rage.
I would lay curled up under my comforter,
reading fairy-tales and happy-ever-afters,
making mental notes to ask my parents
(when they were better in the morning)
what those words meant.