Saturday, 9 April 2005

clouds head in

Blurred sharps, you are my journey and my reason and all of my minutes. Time apart is time together, you of the outlook and the compassionate maturity; I lack and ache. I wait and wait and wait.

This is weight.

It holds. Fast and momentary, you say words in voices that I hear, the bowed endings and confused vowels, orating like a removed version of your history, all the inequalities of travelling, the heat of hospitals and conflict, how may stories make a day?

Cooking is not the same as eating, the unfurling of flavour and the gradual assimilation of ingredients, a bread of sustenance, nutrients rescued, reductionism at its best. When you spoke of fathers I cried, and of mothers too.

You are confounder too, the promotion of honesty of heartfelt affection and the passage of time, a recogniser willing to protest and fight for a chance, a simple chance.

I left you walking, and hoped without thinking. This is best ignorance, top quality ignorance with guarantee, one I am aware of.

I should say we, though, we are two.

No comments: