Prose

Into the Bricks

(This piece was published in the South African poetry journal, Fidelities)

She was a grey blur. She hung around floating on feeling, the feeling of falling. She undid her top button with a pumping finger. She held on to that button, simple as a nipple. Simple as life.

I looked from my slow, hooked part of existence. My eyes bent into her heavy head. It sunk her face into the bricks, into the place where she lived.

She was alive for those moments, breathing in a massive world too small for her finger. I made a gesture (a snorted puff thrown away). The existence of my own hands clung on too few things.

I fell through the hole in her head. Her eyes made a gap, peering through the cloud that clung. It was then,

She sniffed

She blinked.

And every part of me moved. I sang in a gathered silence too strong for me. I felt my way through the folds in the shroud. The crowded corner picked me up with her, into the cloud with bricks and things. It worked like…a…clock…worked, too little. Too little split up time.

I thought I saw a smile. No. A slipped grimace falling through the arch she held in her hands. It was something humane, something nostalgic as the earth. It bred and rose in half.

I walked past and cried, because moans mean more to me than the feet of sleep. I felt like a dream that wakes up in a whiplash of emotion. I slept as solid as my bones, and the folded smell of sleeves.

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s