fiction – Page 17 – three good words

March 19, 2016May 16, 2020

outsourced

we need to re-learn how to take care of each other
we have outsourced so much
even the care of those closest to us
those who were, once, beloved.

we have to re-learn how to take care of each other
to offer solace without fear
without plots of retribution
without vitriol and viciousness
but with that rare thing: kindness, gentleness, sincerity.

why has that become so rare?
why is that not something we can expect
why is it the exception, rather than the rule?
a lot has come to my attention recently
about those left outside, alone, ‘to the winds’
freezing with a body warm
utterly lost with Google Maps uploaded.

we have un-learned the language of emotion
we can no longer speak of love without deconstruction
without cynicism and scoffing
we have no vocabulary to articulate the sublime
that allowed a poet, once, to stand on a bridge
and hail the sun, the sky, an entire realm.

we have lost that primal sound of succour
that beating-drum directness that reaches heart and soul
deep down into the darkest parts of the human condition
breaking through the man-made clouds with a ray of
sublime light that others of less sophisticated times
would have called divine.

we need to learn again
this language of love
langue, parole, signifier, signified
all meanings together, wrapped into each other
used in all languages known to man, woman, child
even if they were once warped by Barbara Cartland.

(and so what for the lace and corsets
so what for the gentlemen in bespoke suits
leaving their card at the door?
they have their place in the joyous abandon of make-believe.)

does that lessen the value of a warm hug, a sweet embrace?
that moment where you come together
with someone who is genuinely lonesome
and needs that one thing you can give, freely:
solace, comfort
peace.

December 15, 2015

once more

…again
at a wood-panelled structure
once more unto the breach
while on an improvised stage
singers, young
sing songs delivered
from the twice born…

And it is important to remember
that the “I” in me
is simply one of many;
that all are trying
to touch the void
that vastness
that remains enigmatic
delirious
ancient, divine.

…and again
we are all in it
together
in this beating, breathing
entity
(passed on, one body at a time)
this wondrous thing called
Life.

October 22, 2015

but world enough, 1

The surf rushed high over the sand, the beach was quiet.
Joggers could be seen in the distance, their dogs at their side.

Lem stood at the porch banister, watching the sun rise. He never got tired of watching dawn turn to day, the grey melting into yellows and reds, that first purple glow that finally turned to blue.

It would be cloudy today, grey, the sky was already covered, but that would be in a few hours. He hardly needed to look now, he’d started sensing the weather again.

He waited until the sun was up, drinking from his cup, always white. He was into white again, everything was white in the house, the couches, the walls, the sheets. Not glaring, that worried the women. Creams were good, eggshell and beige. The only other colours were the plants, tall, fanning out in greens, and whatever paintings he could still look at.

Lem finished his cup, enjoying it to the last drop. It was good, he memorized that recipe and stocked up, he’d never gotten the ingredients here. He watched two joggers pass with their dogs, one after the other, both with plugs in their ears, the woman’s ponytail swaying to the rhythm of her run. Her dog was a large lab, it raced forward into the surf.

Lem watched the four, two humans, two canines, and remembered all the dogs he once had. He should get one again, it was always good having them around. He was into cats right now, though, and as if she knew, the young one came out, brushing along his shins. He picked her up and put her on the banister, feeling her purr under his hand.

He had three cats right now, all of them strays. They came cautiously, first inspecting the terrace, then the food he left out, then the others. Most went away again, but the three liked each other and stayed. Once he’d seen them around often enough he did everything that needed to be done, and now, every morning, at least one of them walked around his legs when he opened the doors to the terrace. waves 2

The young one had enough and jumped down, running back in. Lem followed her, sliding the doors closed. He went to the kitchen, started the dishwasher, and went upstairs.

The girl was still asleep.
He watched her, young limbs, young face, bright, healthy hair. She would sleep till ten, eleven. He watched her sleep a little longer, remembering all the others he could remember.

He sometimes wished they knew, but then there were enough who knew.

Lem turned and went to the bathroom, bright, spacious, facing the beach. The mirror said what it always said, that nothing had changed, that nothing would ever change. He traced the scar, a shadow now, hardly visible. You only saw it if you knew it was there.

July 20, 2015

07/04

July Fourth and they were all in New Jersey at a grand cook-out in Inez’ parent’s back yard. Inez had invited everyone, and almost all had come: Chloë and someone new by the name of Will (Nicolas was hi-sto-ry, oh, you wouldn’t believe), Clarissa with her Greg, who had recently been promoted to ‘the love of her life’ (though she still wasn’t sure if he wasn’t seeing someone else ‘on the sly’), Olivieri with Rachel (calm and content as always) and Matisen alone. He’d decided Inez had to have some hot cousin he could chat up and talk into God-knew-what, Lana didn’t even want to know.

By the look of it he was succeeding very well with a certain Isabella, it was depressing really. Never mind all that, there was her, Lana with Timothy, Timothy who had his arm around her whenever he could. There were tables and chairs set up in small groups, children racing around, the Santa Cruz talking and laughing animatedly, merengue cascading out of the enormous stereo on the veranda, one whole side of the garden an enormous smorgasbord of delicious food. The sky was wonderfully blue, the parade worth seeing, and everyone happy to have a day off to celebrate.

Lana was already on her third margarita, her fingers still sticky from the fantastic barbecue, not that she was complaining, Inez’ family really knew their food. She was anyway laughing at Inez, who couldn’t stop grumbling about another suitor her family had set her up with, this time a certain Ramón. He seemed quite nice, not bad-looking either, but Inez ‘so didn’t care’, though she remained polite. They all meandered from table to table, listened in to wild stories about the Santa Cruz’ life in New Jersey, laughing with everyone, and generally had a really good time. Every now and then Timothy would pull Lana close and kiss her lips, always gently with a hint of more, making Inez’ mother wink at Lana and then give her daughter a telling look that made Inez sigh and roll her eyes.

July Fourth and it turned out to be one of the few days in a long while where Lana was just happy to be where she was, with her friends and Timothy, her surrogate family. July Fourth and for a few hours Lana was just happy to be alive.

May 21, 2015