Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘love’

With a pink balloon in one of your hands and a pile of crushed cakes and plates in the other, I ask you where you learned to dance. It’s a moment from Fame, from Cabaret, even: Your face lights up, it’s the question you love to answer. All your life, since a girl, ballet classes, the ribbons, your grandmother, ballrooms, the foxtrot, New York academy, Paris (once), and now a teacher by the sea. I tell you I think you dance beautifully because I know that, sweaty brow, tired feet, eyes smudged, this is what you most like to hear.

Read Full Post »

When your wife died, you dug honeysuckle into the edges of your garden. A plant that grew rapidly, soon clambering across the entire fence, strangling your Hibiscus syriacus. It sprouted pale flowers, filling the air with sweetness. How deceptive, the natural world; beautiful yet so fierce, you say. I imagine you at your kitchen window, looking out and thinking, There is only Nature, as there is only Now. Like a kick in the chest. Now. The word itself is inadequate. Keep moving, tidy, eat, see, while the world around you dies, lives and dies again. You hand me my change.

Read Full Post »

We’re standing in the lift with you and your Irish husband, who apologises for touching you in public. You missed the evening showing of Billy Elliot and chose dinner, wine, facing each other in your seats instead. It is decided that we’ve all had pleasant evenings, that we like Chalk Farm, that it’s late and as that there’s a tube waiting on the platform, so we should run. Trapped in the closing doors until someone releases me, I think of how blonde your hair is, how dark your skin, your white stilettos and how different your name is from his.

Read Full Post »

Because you must see the world from such a low angle, because your face is a smile and because I was full of wine, I start a conversation. You wear a woollen hat, dense red lipstick and grip your handbag. I suppose it’s tough to be so small, I say. Affection and intrigue cram themselves in me, bring with them a racing mind and heart. Inside, I feel like a house slowly regaining power after a black out, the boiler purring to life, the lights hesitating then glowing, the radio shouting from a disaster zone. You say, It is rather.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »