A petite mess of style and substance. A Melbourne writer. A controversial bitch daring you to see our world differently.

The Moment After

life unfolding
from the window
you see
nothing
but branches
and fences owned
by the woman
with a first name
you keep
forgetting
looking beyond
isn’t living
and
a new can
of paint
won’t hide
what you already see
timbre stains
over time
like trees
sapped and sticky
from children
who dream
of mountains
beyond them
where
colours are drawn
in leaves
going
nowhere
in puddles
and water pooling
from a sprinkler
turned on
for the roses
days away
from tomorrow
you’ll pull your pieces
together then
raking in
the mess you made
confetti
out of memories
with the pronged thing
in the garden shed
you don’t visit
anymore
splintered wood
once cream
you scream
for ice
feeling like your
father’s hand
warmer
taking yourself
to summer
and cocktails
made of wine
from the heat
of a heart
without one
fingers burning
like they always did
not cold
you catch
reflections
in the glass
wonder
what life exists
beyond you
know
forever lasts
only as long
as the moment
following
footsteps in houses
familiar
two thousand
one hundred
and fifteen
farmed into white
or
thirty two
albert street
death at the doorstep
of one
you close the curtains
turn the telly on
recognise
no one
you love
acting
or on the news
you breathe.

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

Basic HTML is allowed. Your email address will not be published.

Subscribe to this comment feed via RSS

%d bloggers like this: