Moon
live, spy saddened
shadows in the glass;
small facets
of a likeness drawn slightly.
where it
lands, how it breathes out motion,
lip sync, lines
upon lines read out loud.
tongue-tied
and thought-melted. Congealed
hue. It makes
the night ache, clouds shifting,
applaud the
moon stepping out in a fur boa
of starlit
awe. She stoops to conquer the light.
Dedicated to my mum. It's almost two years ago since she passed. Inspired by a story she once told me.
Wild horses
tearing down the tarmac,
silvery manes of flowing water
twisting in the wind’s hands.
leaving translucent trails of light,
black eyes glistening, nostrils
flared, silent in their insistency.
bodies, buried during the war,
but all she can see are the horses,
hooves pounding the ground.
without a care in the world,
unreflected in windows.
How they run.
The hour glass
time. It seeps through the
cracks, the edges, pursuing
future, past and present,
casting waves in sand,
a leaking of sensation,
collecting, gathering days,
seconds and circumstance,
a measure of the hour,
as the glass turns,
minutes being just moments
of a life travelling to
the end.
What do you do when rumours are circulating, and have been since 2017, but they’re getting worse, and no one is asking you about it? And you’re feeling unsafe in public because strangers are making unpleasant comments or threats to you on trains or in bars or on the street since June.
She went on a date to Reptile in November 2017 with a guy called Robin, who she met at the Ballroom. She was single and wasn’t dating anyone else. She went with him and a girlfriend. She had a good night and danced a lot. She hung out with the two of them all night and didn't notice anyone else.
On the Monday at work, a group of guys on the next desk were shouting loudly how they’d seen her at Reptile with a guy. They described what she had been wearing – denim shorts, boots, tights. They described how he looked, down to his unusual hair, and called him fat and a creep. The descriptions of her included saying she looked like a tart and acted like one because she was dancing with a man.
Some details freaked her out. And this was in the workplace. One guy said that if she saw Robin again, he’d know about it. They said she stayed for breakfast. And they described the unusual place where he lived - how could they know? And they said some other things that scared her. One guy said that if she did it again he'd know about it. This was scary.
Lots of gossip in the office followed this, and before this event there had been months of gossip in 2017, which was really awful for her. Sometimes she worked from home to avoid it.
She ended up breaking up with Robin cos she felt like her private life had been invaded and it scared her. In her early 20s she experienced domestic violence in two relationships, and one of the guys used to follow her and check her phone, and interrogate her as to where she’d been and who she’d been seeing. Both of them hit her and cheated. Once, a neighbour called the police.
As her Facebook was public at the
time, this was how the guys at work knew where she was going. They used to read
out her posts in the office. So, after what they said about her being at Reptile in
the office, she wrote a message saying she didn’t like to be followed because
it was scary. It was because of the things they said - about her and her date,
slagging them off, and describing where Robin lived, etc. She thought that only
this group of people who it was relevant to would understand her message and
leave her alone (she didn't know which of them it was cos she didn't see them inside the club – she only knew they'd gone cos of what they were saying on the
Monday, criticising her, and they never actually spoke to her at work). She did
not put anyone's name or address it to anyone in particular – she couldn’t cos
she didn’t know which of them was at the club.
Since last year, she has heard a rumour that she harmed a guy who used to work at that workplace whose initials are SJ. This is untrue as she hasn’t harmed anyone. They never spoke. He used to stand and stare at her, but never spoke to her. She never did anything wrong to him. People she worked with know she didn't do anything wrong.
A colleague told her in a pub at one point that she thought SJ was involved with the receptionist. She never approached him or did anything, or try to engage with him in any way.
She went to a pub a couple of weeks ago and a woman said, "I can't believe what she did to SJ." In a station, another woman said, "Is she the one who did… to SJ?" Another said, “She is going to lose her hands.” Another said, “It isn’t rape if she’s a tart.” She has no idea what they think she’s done.
These guys accused her of being a Narcissist and spread rumours around the workplace, and then outside of work. She has never two-timed anyone or dated anyone she has known to be in a relationship as that is wrong and she’s always broken up with someone if they are two-timing. She has a lot of male friends and treats them the same as her girl friends.
She has been told there may be a photo or a video – she has never seen them.
Numb
unbecoming.
Numb.
The bogey-man
outside
your door.
like feathers.
Now you
can’t hold
the weight.
Your feet
precious,
your arms,
your eyes.
The
lifeless alive,
half-living
it.
used to
form. Water
stopped
mid-flow.
people you
love,
conversation
stifled.
scared when
thinking,
scared just
being.
It sinks
you down. Takes
your breath
away.
he moves in his true
direction, unwavering,
straight as a die.
he’s an even arrow,
unyielding, his will
cannot bend.
he is limited by
the still numbness
in his limbs.
he knows true grace,
and his body refuses to
let him down.
Mobiles and mosaics
cross-legged like a Buddha,
he sits amidst his art –
yesterday’s throwaways,
a cavalcade of lived rubbish,
myriad lost colours and fabrics,
metals, paper, sticks and yarn.
idly watching his garden grow
from disfunction into movement,
hazy flowers from tight bulbs,
sprouting into perfume around him.
It makes him proud, the shapes
he sculpts with his gnarled hands.
caresses on the wind. Mosaics
witness nature’s cracks reformed,
mirrors blotched, sound sprinkling
from a mobile spinning around
and around, echoing, re-evaluating,
rebecoming something new.
