Record
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Gradations of Us

once upon a time it was a simple matter of following.

hushed walking in mutual acknowledgment on the balled edges of our feet.

were you in front     or was i          and

who caused who to slip and stumble off samene s  s?

after the fall

we became adventurous and went places that weren’t mapped but who cares about these trivialities

there was too much: sweetgrass prickling our shadows, teetering on white picket fence tops, and other things left behind.

what explorers,                                                                                                                  you and i.

 

ambition sent us midnight trains bypassing the anxious hours in favour of a deliciously purpled mystery to be wanted and never known.

eager to stay hidden we preferred the sheer power of element in element coarsing through tiny fibre wires shocked into our fingertips.

we went and we wanted and we knew not now never to know.

 

oh the things to be seen. except foresight costs money and we were just darlings so we

pooled to share but things never work our way

so i was left with a squint and a longing for tunnel-like landscaped dreams.

did i decide then that dark-ringed vision was an indication of wisdom?

 

i tried to give you one.

i really only had your best interests in mind and still it came to this:

quiet on the benches with unknowing words examining a tingling foreboding or maybe it was just the painkillers kicking in since

there was no other way to look because

the mirrors were too clean.

 

if only.

just beyond reach.

 

then i tried it for myself:

growing.

you and your umbrella always waiting for a step or a heavier raindrop to tilt the world back in your favour but we were both too busy looking at the wrong things.

did i ever tell you about the girl who loved element in element shock waves to the skin?

 

no, you say,

as we lie in the middle of an island stream and the memories hurtle back in.

except now we are older, wiser and more prone to soaking – kisses i say.

kisses on the skin.

we will brown and crack as the warmth seeps into the dusty hollows within
imprinting mapped lines of old frolics in green
as they snake their way into charred pathways of the brain from the edges of our toes and
bypassing the thin
remembrance of pain-less-seam in bone-more-redeemed.

glimmering in the light; these threads

marking gradations of us.

the many.

This entry was posted in: Record

by

jaziimun is an interdisciplinary producer who works in text, paper arts and tea. She is a literary professional and a ceramic hobbyist. She is also a proud bun mom.

2 Comments

  1. Beautiful as always! Your way with words has something so fluid, alive, and connecting about it. 🙂

    Like

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