She’s calmer now. The winter Sun is setting.
The edges of her voice have dulled
her eyes are still swift, snowy blue
blossomed into summer skies.
She is august now. Slow,
heavy as the air. Mellow,
the Moon easing in her hammock.
It was the crispness of the sweater that made me stop. Folded firmly, it was starched with the wind and the sun of the country it was dried in. Australia. I pushed it up to my face and breathed in deeply. Just the stale scent of the plane remained, not the detergent she used to wash it. But it was enough, it was enough. I placed it over my face and let my head drop back as the memories of the trip washed up through my senses.
Inhale. Long flights and airport reunions. Exhale. Her bedroom in that little apartment, his dirty dungarees and white ponytail past the door. The curtain-sifted light in her room and the darkness sitting, brooding in the corners. Inhale. The wind, the constant wind around the house, through the windows, playing tag with the screen door. Exhale. Arguments. Speed-walking through pale, yellow brick streets under a muggy grey sky. And quiet conversations in the dusk; thoughts waiting on pillows.
She reached across and stuck the needle in
didn’t feel around for the vein
if it hurt.
The plunger went down, Continue reading
The human with the short, white, curly hair had the milk and tuna. The cat liked that. A few doors down, at the back of the house with the dog with the sausage body and the stumpy legs, pristine water and delectable wet food usually sat on the porch. The cat liked that too. It could out-jog the sausage dog and the human whenever they heard the bowl travelling across the wood and made a fuss. The cat would casually jump up on the grey fence, look back with a tail-flick, and strut away back home.