#dailydrafts

04 A Screaming Statement

Be your own kind of woman. And own it.

I can still feel them moving- malleable waves floating like loose currents inside my head. Then, the rigid hysteria. Colours flashing from white to pink to orange to cobalt blue. I wait behind the yellow line. Convince myself to stand still. What’s wrong with you? So that when I fall, I do it gracefully; avoiding sharp objects, sliding slowly. I land on my side in a half-kneel, half-seated position, with my head against my forearm and my eyelids closed. I've waited a long time for this. I will not let it go.

Each night, heavens collapse into the ocean. Each day, they lift themselves afresh. 

Though your stripes sting with heavy salt, I will watch you breathe again. 

In the summer, we'd wait at the christmas tree. You, with young-fingers poised gently, and me, with a container to share. We'd begin at no where. Tracing the glistening paths till you picked one up, examine it's firing, iridescent coat, then add it to the collection. You never killed one, you said. You could even lift ants  without killing them.

Sometimes, if I pick the right wind, I can still smell our summers of burnt bark and gum leaves, of green rubber floors and silver seats. And I wonder who cares for our christmas tree, and names its beetles before taking them away, and holds them softly before putting them back.