Time Spent In Green

The woman in green sits on the wall and watches me. I am standing at the railing. The bag on one side. My feet and legs on the other. Anchored like jelly. Maybe she is the bell. Not real. But an alarm in my head. Yes. I decide that’s what she is. I want her to be. But people are just colours. Today it has been all green. Apart from the water. In the aisle. Standing with stitches and pins. The green trouser man attends to someone else. Time falls around the shampoo. The bottle I hide the packet behind. In. For a moment it is me at the back of the shop. I am on the floor catching myself up. The carpet ripped open. The powder sticky on my hands. The cherry red ink betraying me. But that was another time. It is hard to keep up remembering. Colours are much simpler than memories. Than people. There is always green. When I am ready. At night - in between thinking and doing - it is yellow and I feel someone on my chest. Sometimes I speak to them. My hands are folding up the blanket and I am sharing a joke. When my eyes catch up I see am stuck to the bed with glue. No going forward. No going back. The thump of a hand gives me breath. I remember my life today. It lasted one minute and thirty-nine seconds. I dig my feet deep into the only dreams I can muster. Raw. Dirty sand. The dry fuck of time passing.