LET GO

Searching for words in the waves that break

Sitting beside you

Holding your hand

I remember how it used to be

Back then when you didn’t let me run

Each time that I tried

Back then when you held me close

Each time that I cried

The pickles I loved

Now sour on my tongue as I chew

The world has shrunk

Shrivelled, somehow, along with you

I watch as you stare at the sea

Your face a blank

Your mind –

 

The salt stings my eyes

My heart aches and I wonder why

When you’re still here with me and there’s time

Time to walk hand in hand

Searching for shells in the warm golden sand

Mockingbird

Last night it was the electric iron. Tonight, it is the washing machine. You watch as he sets it on spin, and then listen to the screams that seem to echo from hell. Afterwards, you soothe the wounds as best you can. But the holes keep getting bigger. You work tirelessly, feverishly, sealing off one hole after the next, knowing you would give your life’s blood if you could but you only have ten fingers and they are not enough. Not nearly.

You recall the first night he kicked you down the stairs. You lay there, gasping like a beached whale, each breath slicing like a knife through your gut. Your distended belly blocked him from view as he screamed, whore, I will kill that devil’s child, and then he left you, lying there with the blood soaking through your jeans down to the beautiful cashmere carpet below.

The carpet’s been replaced and the staircase polished many times since, and you tread with care, afraid of slipping as you softly sing – 

 

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word

Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…

 

The nights go on and the methods vary but the result is always the same. The Devil’s Child, they say He cannot be killed.

Tomorrow night, it will be the gas oven. And the night after, the television.

Heavy hearts and light pockets

In a darkened corner of the club he pushed her against the wall, kissed her. “You believe in love at first sight?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Just not for me.”

Thank goodness he had left his wallet at home. His brand new iPhone was a different matter altogether.

The Invisible Woman

She hates waiting. It reminds her of overcrowded bus halts and doctor visits. Being the last to be picked on the team. Standing by the school gate at 3.30 pm as everyone leaves one by one. Sitting at Pizza Hut in her prettiest jeans, chewing the polish off her nails.

She feels her energy drifting away. Already her feet have grown numb. She doesn’t think she can wait much longer, enduring their stares. You know the feeling when you think the whole world is laughing at you and whispering behind your back, but no one cares, not really? No one even sees you.

She likes being invisible, though. It means no one is laughing. But for once, she wishes they would notice her. Talk to him, she wants to say. All he wants is a little attention. He gets tired of waiting, too. After all, he is only three…

Funny, how being invisible makes you put things in perspective. It gives you time to reflect. She reflects on all those moments she could have been visible, but wasn’t.

It is sad, really, how you inevitably want to go back and live the moments you didn’t.

Aftermath is everything. The tyres screech, the mother screams and everyone runs to the middle of the road. She feels the transfer of his energy as it surges through her feet, a pang so sharp and strong it almost makes her feel alive. For an instant she wonders about the moments of his short life, whether the visible moments have been enough to outweigh the invisible ones, or whether, like her, he will spend the rest of eternity feeding off the moments of those that had lived.

 

NOT MY HERO

You stood by the side of the road where

I lay wounded,

Bleeding, refusing to heal,

You did not stoop to lift me in your arms,

Nor pull me up by the hand.

No, you were not my hero,

Not my knight in shining armour.

You simply stood, your hand outstretched,

Just out of reach of mine.

I cried, I cursed, then cried some more,

You simply laughed, in your own strange way,

At me? With me?

Because of me?

Not that I cared.
I looked up from where I lay, laughing

Just a little at your silly grin.

No, you were not my Prince Charming,

Not my dashing Hollywood hero.

I wondered, within my mind,

Would that laughter ever fade?

Would that hand

Ever tire?

Not that I was afraid.

And I stared,

For suddenly your hand seemed

Closer than before,

Though I knew you had not budged an inch.

And I wanted to live,

I wanted to stand.

 

I dreamed of the day I would hold your hand.

Moment in the Sun

My little sunflower. I watch, as you stretch your tiny limbs, reaching for me. I am your sun. I, who have always been cold as death, am now the warmth that gives you life. Your face, just a moment ago a tight, angry red ball is now smooth, white and pure like mother’s milk. I touch you in wonder. It is a softness like I have never felt before, a softness that soothes my callused fingertip as I draw it gently across your rosy, baby cheek.

You stare up at me, the wonder in your squinty eyes mirroring my own. They are still adjusting to the world around…but even at this early stage, I know you know me. Clear green eyes so unlike mine, sparkling like the ripples of a stream in the sun. I lose myself in you.

I watch, seeing my pain in your eyes as your face turns red once more and then blue, and your eyes lose their sparkle as they dull and glaze over. You no longer know me.

And yet you reach out blindly, fingers stretched towards me, even as I strangle you to your death.

 

SMOKE AND MIRRORS

The feel of the wind as it whips through my hair,

Raindrops on my face.

“Pull down your visor,” he says,

“The dust will get in your eyes.”

I smell the smoke,

Hear the blaring horns

Of the city streets.

He aims for a pothole –

The biggest in sight!

I shriek,

Clutching him

Tighter around the waist.

I only wish I could see the grin that

Lights up his face…

 

And now we do the same commute,

Sitting sedately side by side.

Your eyes on the road,

You turn up the volume of your favourite show; I

Pull down the visor,

Look in the vanity mirror, and

Apply fresh makeup,

To hide my scars.