The long and short of it lasted more so
than anything she'd seen, and it left her
– panting – sweating – and looking up at him –
both still slightly discombobulated –
The long and short of it lasted more so
than anything she'd seen, and it left her
– panting – sweating – and looking up at him –
both still slightly discombobulated –
When are we supposed to reach
the age at which our rest is due?
We are tired
– tired of looking after others,
our elders and youngers –
– the first bailing out as soon as possible –
– the second deferring for as long as they can –
We are left with the toil and the sweat,
the emptiness of our feelings and of our lives
– the very subject of the shows we watch –
We are tired of stretching ourselves
across such vast distances,
our minds numbed with pain
and impossible tasks.
We long to rest – perhaps even
waste our lives, unoccupied,
unaccompanied, slothful –
for the prospects of being too frail and sick
to be able to rest when our work is done
– out of breath and having achieved little –
– unable or unwilling to have sex, do sports –
– life suddenly just a distraction,
death the justification –
– and endpoint:
bedridden, committed, parked and underfed:
how could we escape this middle-class death,
we ask you – the answer more deafening
than the fucking Big Bang
– and we’re expected to go down
with a barely-heard whimper –
Si demain tu te sens seule
pense à moi
et embrasse-moi
comme cette nuit-là
si demain tu te sens seule
cherche-moi
au fond de ton cœur
au fond de ton corps
et embrasse-moi
tous deux à portée de mots
à se perdre dans les sens
enlacés, éternels, sans maux
pendant des milliers d’instants
perdus, retrouvés, ancrés
en chacun, insoucieux
des autres, des années,
dans l’échancrure du temps
dans l’absence de lieu
ici, ailleurs, partout, présents
‘Soon’, you said, but soon never came.
It died in the next day’s dust.
‘Soon,’ you said, ‘I’ll get better’.
‘Soon’, you said, and soon did come.
Like a tornado levelling towns down.
‘Soon,’ you said, ‘I’ll show you my heart’.
‘Soon’, you said. It meant all, and naught.
You knew we would never meet again,
but keep each other where we keep secrets,
where truths streak like lightning bolts,
outbursts of brilliance in the night sky.
‘Soon’, you said. But the rain came first.
Summer and snow followed suit.
Seasons passed sooner than your ‘soon’.
And years later, like a remanent déjà vu,
soon happened, for you casually forgot.
‘Soon is an aurora in broad daylight,’ you said.
Except it wasn’t. I lived for that soon
like others pray to an invisible god.
Soon is a strip of land on the horizon,
soon is a shaft of sun through the clouds.
Yet this is what you meant all along.
I read what my heart yearned for,
not what yours couldn’t possibly give.
That ‘soon’ you said was a memory
etched on the wind of your breath,
a whispered reminder to hold on
or to let go, for this ‘soon’
you’ve now placed it in my hands.
I am a dandelion in the sun
waiting for a
sudden gust of wind
to blow away
any minute now
I seem to remember
a memory not my own
nectar stuck in the stem
for a spell, unstuck
any minute now
The wind in the trees
traces rays of dusk
on the grass
last chance to belong
any minute now
I wish oh I wish
time slowed and sped
the hands on the clock
moving sunward
any minute now
I am a dandelion in the sun
lest the nightdew
petrifies images
of heartbreak
any minute now
Embrace the wind
be done with it
any minute now
the sphere perfected
only to disperse
any minute now
I am
happiness happens when
we’re the least capable of seeing it
—
in faint microbursts of love
—
unrecognisable until years later
when looking back polishes the moment
removes the grain and the dust
—
its lustre gently caressing
both mind and heart
—
then happiness is felt
and rewards the bearer
with a loud, unexpected echo
If you think you’ve had enough
perhaps you have
If you think you’re not enough
perhaps you aren’t
If you think something is impossible
perhaps it is
—
But if you think you’ve had enough love
ask an old person if they feel they ever have
If you think you’re not brave enough
look at the scars in and out of your heart
If you think life is impossible
water the grass coming out of the concrete
And you will see
I didn’t know but letting go of someone I’ve never met is the hardest thing to do on this dratted planet. I’ve let go of ghosts, friends, demons, good habits, bad habits. I’ve let go of memories, dead people, distant people. I’ve let go of parts of me which I thought were innate, but ultimately were inane. I almost added an ‘s’ in there. Of all the toughest decisions I’ve had to make over the years, this has got to be the most difficult one. Letting go of someone I have never met.
I had an ideal, once, and once only, and it was taken away from me. She was all I didn’t know I needed, and she had stepped into my night like a dream. The day I met her was daily nondescript. No buildup to this day, no chance of me thinking I’d meet my ideal person. So when I did, Death was amused, and after a time adorned it with tubes and a ventilator, and tied its life to a thin green line drawing mountains and abysses at irregular intervals. That erratic horizon of a line had to settle between those two, where the ocean meets them, and became as still as the doldrums.
Now we’re drowned among 8 billion individuals. We’re even specked into oblivion by billions upon billions of stars and galaxies we cannot possibly ever explore. Yet when I look at her, her uniqueness shines brighter than quasars, weighs more heavily on my mind than black holes on the fabric of the universe, appears more majestic and terrible than neutron stars. This is what I feel when I think of her.
Ultimately, our lives may not matter and our decisions only affect a fraction of whatever we call the reality around us. Yet I will not get to meet her; and surely Death wouldn’t be amused again because that is not how Death works, yet it feels right all the same. Yet I cannot shake this feeling that I have that it could be she, again, even if it’s not how Life works. I didn’t know but now I do, that letting go of someone I’ve never met is the hardest thing to do on this dratted planet.
The day was torn and grim birds yet began to sing as if they knew nothing’s eternal and old gives way to new that man, one day, will fall t...