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Concealed in Pink and Blue

March 20, 2012

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(oil pastel on paper)

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Nearly gone

The light of today is nearly gone, though a last bright glimmer remains. Time to reflect. Time to atone. Atone: For all the wrongs I've done in these brief few hours since I woke (losing my temper, shouting at the kids before school.....and the rest...) - and then the wrongs I've done to myself - (working straight through lunch, beating myself up over all the things I haven't finished.... and the rest....) And reflect; - how strange that all the technology is responding to the stress and strain in the air around us. Strange technology glitches all around for the last few days. Things inexplicably not working. Bizarre delays and the disappearance of functions. Big thanks to the man who listened to my complaint, brought up a big bag of goodies to the house "for my trouble". Big thanks to a world that is throwing work my way, notwithstanding the challenges it brings. The last glimmer of day is gone now. All dark. Time to rest. Time to repair.

Old Jumper

Tonight, I'm wearing that old grey jumper, and thinking about friendship, and about the ways we wound one another, without meaning to, and how the one who seemed so close that distance seemed unimaginable, seems now to be on the other side of the moon, and me, forlornly standing at the ocean's edge, looking out into vastness of distance. I wrap the soft cloth tighter; a semblance of holding, while the parade of necessary feelings makes its way through my town. With no intention of wounding, not me, not you, yet somehow still it happened. And now, instead of that rock solid place, we're walking on quicksands. And friendship hangs in the balance. Easy to pull up the drawbridge and just turn away. Defensive pretences. The old words slip into place; "it doesn't matter. It doesn't" Wrap the grey fabric tighter. Remember. What's torn asunder does not reduce the cloth to ash. Wrap myself tight. Remember. What's real stays real, even if it isn't here ...

Suicide attempt

Today, an ambulance passed me at the traffic lights, lights flashing, and I remembered how we followed the ambulance through every set of lights, down the Stratford Road, past Lipton's Grocery and the fish shop, past The Antelope, down the hill and past The Mermaid, leaving the ABC on our right (where we sometimes queued on a Saturday) then left onto the number 8 route and past the bus terminus. I knew things were bad, they must be bad, us driving through red light after red light, my dad gripping the steering wheel, not speaking, not a word. Through the lights on the Ladypool Road, through the next set on Moseley Road, then the long straight stretch downhill and up again, and into the Accident Hospital. The ambulance already there, and my mother lifted out, tied tight to the stretcher. The boys, white faced, beside her. A long day of waiting. Sun shining. Dust. Fish swimming in a tank. Nobody saying anything. Nobody saying a word. Endless day, and b...

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Concealed in Pink and Blue

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