Thursday, May 06, 2010

On waking

Toes on the window sill
Strain with urgency.
Little chips of ancient paint
Break and float away
(Revealing a previous coat
By a now-forgotten tenant).
Calves dimple up hard and taut
Revealing a truer inner intent.
Toes on the window sill
Turn white around the edges
Blood thrums in louder and redder.
Heels feel weightless and skinless
Against the back of brown thighs.
Toes quiver now, some lose grip,
She readjusts her position.
Sits still on a borrowed window sill
(She’ll look like a brooding bird from below,
Nothing further from the barren truth)
And surveys the neighbour’s water tank.
Toes now cold as her hair and neck,
She dreams of flying, she dreams of drowning,
She has given up living now, in sepia
screens of her errant dreamscapes
and the newer bluer colours frighten her still,
so she haunches over the still awake world,
and contemplates living on;
Sitting on her toes on a borrowed sill
neither drowning, nor flying.

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