What does it matter that it is finished and I am tired?
It was lived to the full
and that is enough.
Animal we are
Animal we are.
Blood pulses at our throat.
The feel of the flesh that forces the spasm
is as living in us as in those we look down on.
Muscles twitch our skin.
Though clawing for beauty, claw still we do,
the wink of an eye our only betrayal.
Animal we are.
Animal we die.
The roar of the rage at the end of the hunting
despite our soft bellies wells up all the same.
Animal we are.
I have no words
I have no words to calm you, no words to soothe you, no words to change the past for better.
I have my silence and my arms and they are yours forever.
Statement part 1: A chalkstripe suit and a Santa hat
I was wearing a chalkstripe suit and a Santa hat, climbing boots and a fluorescent orange bib that read “Yes baby, baby”. I wasn’t comfortable, especially with that comma in the wrong place. I had the feeling that everyone on the tram was looking at me.
I got off at Haymarket, which was the story of my life, and walked up the hill, past the toilets and the conference centre. By now I was sure that people were looking at me. I was sweating. It was hot for Edinburgh in April.
I crossed the road by the Malaysian takeaway just as the lights turned green. The bus driver revved the motor with what sounded like impatience but gave me a little wave, I think of apology, when I jumped a step and almost tripped over my feet. I walked on. He lived.
Can I have a glass of water, please? Half still half sparkling?
Trim the tree
Stevie was hacking straggly branches off the Christmas tree with a bread knife when he got the idea. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and yelped as the tree sap stung. He jumped up from the floor, knife in hand, and ran to the bathroom to rinse his eyes. He leaned on the sink, looking down at the knife, then blinked red eyes at the mirror. Water ran. The idea had gone.
The longest night
The longest night. Clouds covering thin moon. Few cold stars silver in the black surrounding sky. Golden eyes blink slowly, twice.
Ten minutes to New Year
Ten minutes to New Year. Lightning zigged, cab lights zagged the rain yellow. The girls zigazigahed up the hill. Love would arrive.
Red on green, soft black
The coat stood out against the dying grass on the hillside. Anyone passing would have seen it.
Nobody passed.
She shrugged the coat back onto her shoulders and turned her gaze to the sky, away from the tree that leaned from the North Sea wind. Her jaw was gently set, as if the clouds troubled her at first. Then her face smoothed and her soft eyes saw the distance, saw the future.
(Inspired by http://www.broaddaylightltd.co.uk)
How is your family?
Hello, how are you?
I am fine, thank you, how are you?
I am well, thank you. I haven’t seen you for a long while. How’s your family?
We are a small family now. My brother, you knew him, he passed away. My parents, in my country, they passed away. My older sister, she lived with our parents, she passed away. Now I am, with my younger sister. We are the family. But what can you do? If people must go, they must go. When they have stayed enough, they leave us. … How is your family?
Winter sea
The riptide curled, waves crested and rolled, roiled up and over the lone rock in the stone grey sea, and the snow was gone.
simonsalento 