a smile

silence over the phone line, the silence that lasts an eternity before you give up and hang up the phone before the familiar ring tone begins, the ring tone that brings to mind the ability to make some noise in the world. some noise that could perhaps, in some mad way, connect you to wherever the phone rang there and then.

there and then, the moment, the past, vestiges of them replaying over and over in some lost space in time itself.

as a child, i traced the patterns of the moissac tiles in the kitchen. wondered about the grey inlets and whether they'd always been grey.

a breath of fresh air today, a refreshing one from the past. latches of memory that latch me onto the past as a baby latches onto mother's breast.

a smile, a smile within a smile.
a smile that finally reached to the eyes.
in this crazy world, i'm glad i finally saw a smile.

the darkness, so bleak. coloured by the chrysms of red that filled the air, it was almost a joke.
water, water, floating past me. i grabbed a green apple along the way, ate it, threw the core away and hailed a cab, as if i knew where to go.

the polished floors of the ladies room of the posh hotel. the tiny contraption of a dustbin surprised me. down went my foot and up went the lid of the dustbin. into the bin went the muffin.

into the wind. a collection of short stories done ten years ago in convent pinafores. a story of romance, crosssed romance between people of different races. objections. desire, lust, of leaving.

of lust and then leaving. to master that art. it is an art, you know?

a special belt that i'd thought was first to be worn as a form of identification. the form of identification that then took the guise of a circular lightstick. how very much like a puppy, i thought with some disdain.

the long walk back to what was my home for a few nights, alone.