Monday, April 11, 2011

...

amongst the tea leaves there are little blue flowers.
they're brighter than they should be ; my tea has eyes.

the teapot is blue too. almost. maybenotquite.
colours are indeterminate. i'm not soo good with them.

you wait for me to make my mind up.
it takes a while, i stand when i read papers and you ask why.

'i don't know the answer to that question' i respond.
you nod.

at 5:54am i jump onto the bed, yelping frantically till you're
up and awake and telling me a half-asleep story until we're both

half asleep the next morning.
after your shower you grow roots into my couch

and i stare off at somenothing and (by now) am no longer playful.
'it's dark-' you say but i get up and turn the lights on before you finish.

your tea's gotten cold. it means you can drink it now, your first cup.
i finish my fourth and get up for another.

walk past the fridge which has been beeping for an hour and shut it right.
stop in the middle of the hall to contemplate how tired i am for a moment.

you find me 20 minutes later and ask me how long i've been standing.
'i don't know the answer to that question' i respond.

for dinner we discuss what to have.
eventually we eat whatever your mom cooked us last.

the menu's written on the plastic containers.
when i wash them i hold them up to the light to read my fortune.

it is silent.


sometimes it is silent and you are hidden in my phone.
amongst the tea leaves there are your blue eyes.

it beeps and your handprint is still on the couch.
i open the window to give it light, maybe it will grow;

by morning i could have three fingers with Chanel coloured tips.
'which colour?' you'd ask and after reading papers for a while i'd say

'i don't know the answer to that question'.
when it's silent a sad voice speaks.

you thought the song was dainty, 'it's dainty' you said, 'it sounds like something dancing ;
what do you think it sounds like?' you asked.

i said it was a ghost dancing.
even when it is silent the ghost is dancing.

i put on shoes when it gets dark,
when i walk i bump into stacks of books

papers fall and slide. every 3 minutes you see me get
up for 10 trying to find my needle in a rainstack.

eventually i stop jumping on the bed at 5:54am.
'sometimes you are the little spoon' you say, 'when you are running away from me'.

it is quiet but i hear swimming.
there are blue eyes in my tea.

between the cushions, i push aside some papers,
there's a fingertip.

four days later they'll find me rowing out to sea,
dreaming in vermilion on a blue-flower ocean

listening to a silent voice
ask my why i'm playing Mozart at 3am.

4 comments:

Peachyyy said...

The above post,
so different and fresh. Interesting read :)

Anonymous said...

This made me cry and I'm not quite sure why. Thank you.

Selah said...

http://thesoundofthecolours.blogspot.com/

Let me know what you think. We have a similar style.

Rachel Martley said...

I love your writing; it's really interesting.

I nominated you for the Sunshine Award because of your creativity.

For the rules check out my post.

http://rachel-martley.blogspot.com/2011/05/sunshine-award-11.html