She puts her tongue in my cheek
Softly
Like a gift
I cannot find enough air
Not without her
The storm has blown through
The bells ring
Empty packets travel like scurf on the tide
Cakes not eaten
Parties not thrown
He throws a ladder against the empty shop
Calendar Club
Defunct
Time no longer has meaning
But means all
He is picking for wires
The baby pram remains neatly abandoned
Rich pickings
Except there is no rich any more
No one left to push
It was ended
Long before the air ran out
We turn the carrier bag into a seat
Sit on the wall by the water
The oars chug like pistons
Wasted energy
Wasted breath
Some people still try to leave
We watch
The white hand is painted on the door
Brown ribbon in the dirt
They are taking down the building
Picking for wood
We put our heads down
Invisible
We will have to go back
To that place
It is the only way to find air
That thing we need
That thing we seek
Inside all we want is for it to be ended
But we do not have the heart
Or the white hand
We no longer think
But thinking is all we do
She puts her tongue in my cheek
Softly
Like a gift
I cannot find enough air
Not without her.
So many things that are 'invisible' are important. 'Air' and 'time.' They are also 'gifts' that we may take for granted until we fear then will disappear.
ReplyDeletehi jae
ReplyDeletethis is delicate.
i imagine a breeze stirring
restless air.
So beautifully and tenderly written, I am reminded of an old master's painting... we are joined by the breath, remember there is plenty, take it, it is your's.
ReplyDeleteJae your piece reminded me there is such a razor's edge between what we love and what we hate. Perhaps it is all the same?
ReplyDeleteMaybe everything invisible is what is important Mary..you're right..thank you..
ReplyDeleteThanks Lucychili..good to see you blowing through too..
Thank you Annell...maybe we hate ourselves for needing what we hate or what we love..perhaps getting in a boat and rowing avoids such thoughts..focuses the mind..
As always, this flow is both distinctive to you while at the same time unique.
ReplyDeletewow beautifully written
ReplyDeleteWhat infinite sadness and frustration with life comes out in every word. It is as if the narrator's life itself is paralleled by the destruction and futility all around.
ReplyDeleteYet the curious thing is the duplicity of the character who as 'we' is showing an indecision between two courses of action. A truly incisive piece of writing.
I like the repetition of the theme of air and breath. While not the source of life, we cannot live without air. Although we can't see or feel it, we are surrounded by it. And even though it is everywhere, sometimes it's contaminated, not of the right kind, and so we suffer.
ReplyDeleteI think I'm back again, btw! I was on a mad two-week writing obsession that has resulted in a bouncing baby novella, which is now languishing in draft form while I try to get some beta reads so I know where to begin my edits.
I see a disaster..a lost child... a lost life...it is impossible to live without her. I really enjoy the way you move and stop and then move again. Your words always stir me.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much Ben..
ReplyDeleteThank you Becca..
Thank you OldEgg..duplicitous is one adjective..thanks for spotting the 'we'..having two parts is both company and isolation..maybe..
Very good to have you back Ann..congratulations on the novella.. some things nothing feels right even if it is..or too much Talking Heads as a teenager.. ;)
And disaster is another apt adjective..thank you GS.. :)
Jae
Sometimes we all need a breath of fresh air and even someone to help us take it into our lungs! This poem is a breath of fresh air, too, by the way!
ReplyDeletewritten on the sweet edge.
ReplyDeletea klimit painting comes to life.
Thank you Belva..it was a bit of a lexical deep breath.. ;)
ReplyDeleteThank you sweetly Paige..
"air" can be a lot of things,,reckon?
ReplyDeleteThe tone is light in this one, like a sigh. It feels like a whirlwind and that the sea is a way out. The limit pushed a bit further here, but still no heart. I'm just glad that there is comfort in the memory of a soft gift.
ReplyDeleteI felt myself drifting with this one and it was a pleasure to read.
reckon so Glenn..blood or poison..
ReplyDeleteThank you Archna..a touch of honey in the air.. ;)
There’s not enough air, Jae, true - mucho water, nada air. The boss has got the puffer handy and I’ve been making do. This post gets a triple P – particularly, pungently pleasing. Unlike air, there is never a shortage of intoxicating words here : )
ReplyDeleteMmm, yummy! ;-)
ReplyDeleteI like the triple p rating..thank you kindly Ms Z..we really don't do air conditioning well in blighty do we.. or, well, anything really..but that's a while other barrel of monkeys.. thank you ;)
ReplyDelete;) Archna
so much pain in this piece so hauntingly beautiful.I am so sad for the woman who lost her baby.
ReplyDeleteThanks Sheilagh..good to see you back..and to see the piece through different eyes..hope you had a good holiday..
ReplyDeletethank you Jaerose I did have fun
ReplyDelete