Archive for the 'inklings' category

When hope is more like hunger pangs

Jan 06 2010 Published by under inklings

Perhaps there is no start to this conversation. Roll the dial across every frequency from right to left and back again. The hiss and buzz of amplitude modulation with occasional focus on something intelligible. Four bars from an old song. The answer to an unknown question. An opinion offered to a midnight audience of five. Phonemes scattered on the speaker dancing secret messages into the passenger seat.

If, perhaps, there were more to say tonight, I would find myself curled around the steering wheel, resting on your wrist. And all the other secret places you never thought to lie about.

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Releasing

Dec 14 2009 Published by under inklings, these small moments

In the many days of silence, perfect words flit like restless thoughts through axons and dendrites. Like elusive spices in a creamy sauce and silk fluttering against the ankle in an inexplicable draft. Shades of black on black on blue in a moonlit night. Magpie feathers gliding on a winter breeze.

We fight against the gravity of small bodies. And leave the corners blank.

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A logic of colours

Nov 30 2009 Published by under inklings, snippets from somewhere, these small moments

We stood where green turned to blue, watching the spectrum spin in all directions, caught in the spray of a garden hose. We heard the kaleidoscope tinkle mosaic out of the windows of old houses. Old homes. We were yellow and orange and purple and all the glint of silver and gold. And we knew where to put the shadowy black to bring out the fire in red.

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To be in the world

Sep 14 2009 Published by under inklings, random acts of fiction

My cherished,

I left you 100 days ago today. Walked out over the grass and found myself spectacularly at the bottom of a fountain collecting wishes. But not for long. In the 100 days since then, I have experienced several hundred humans. Quite possibly into the thousands, but you see, I lost count. I began by handing out pennies, and when the pennies ran out, I wandered to the edge of a river to gather pebbles. I smiled at people and said hello, good day, take care. More than they did to me. It was mostly glorious. I could see eyes full of suspicion even though they wanted to trust. They wanted to find me in their family of hello, good day, take care. But the pebbles ran out too. And now, 100 days later, I am coming home to you. I think. If I can find the soles of my feet above the first shake of fallen leaves. They will lead me to you with the rustle of fading heartbeats.

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