NaPoWriMo 2016: Day 29

She sits in the empty room

Suddenly aware of how bare walls are greedy eaters

They leave the room hollow

She feels as if she is sitting in a ribcage

A bone picked carcus

She feels sick

Her friends came

Boxed her into several pieces and left one by the door

“return it or burn it” written on the side in thick black lines.

It has been weeks since that box fitted into this home

But even so she has not stopped moving it around

To this place and that.

On the fifty seventh day the bottom gives out

The floor is strewn with feathers

So many colours and shapes

At the top of this mountain of flight

A single piece of paper

Pinned by a blackbird feather.

She takes the word

And hides it for the rainy days

It always seems to grow brighter

Then she frames the feathers (every one)

It still is missing something

But she looks at the word

And knows

That that is ok.

NaPoWriMo 2016: Day 28

I stand at the corner of an indoor market

Spend my time casually

Studying people’s shoes.

Adopt the slouch to match.

A surprisingly stylish pair of brown shoes

Keep an old man

And his baggy blue trousers

Shuffling up and down the tiled alleyway.

The roof is a mix of weathered wood and red curves.

Flat caps and memories.

Old

And yet

Still here

Enduring                       as if there was no other way to exist.

At the corner again

I think about bringing you here one day

And pointing out all the people

Like the works of art they have always been

Even when

And especially

When no one was looking

NaPoWriMo 2016: Day 27

He is alone and the beach is empty

The waves keep reaching out to his shoes

Tiny white arms melting into the sand

The ocean is as grey as the sky

Both are moving

Like giants turning in their sleep

He shouts at the sky

The sky shouts back

They glare at each other in a stand off

He watches as the sky comes crashing into the sea

When he eventually leaves

His footprints sink the ground behind him

The white arms reach out

And embrace the ghost of a gold ring.

NaPoWriMo 2016: Day 20

She was electricity in tall glasses

And he was the lowest string on a guitar

They hummed at the same frequency

Constantly they shocked each other with every almost touch

They liked to make their hairs stand up straight for each other

When they met on the dance floor of his kitchen

For the thirty ninth time

As the room breathed in all the light

He passed her secret notes

From his right hand

To her left hip

Neither of them speak

They just let the music do the talking

As they breathe the moment

In such a warm silence.

NaPoWriMo 2016: Day 16

I’ve been writing a letter to no one

For the longest time

I have been gathering my thoughts into bags

Harvesting my imagery

And storing it for…something

When i finally meet the name that will come after the ‘dear’

I will open the doors of this grain store body

Watch the words tumble clumsy

Empty everything

Just to have space

For her spare thoughts.

NaPoWriMo 2016: Day 15

This is the dream:

She lies under a peach tree

Carelessly running fingers across the bark

Beside her there is a basket of peaches

On her other side a pile of peach stones

The peaches are sunsets

As big as her palm

She eats them full mouthed

Light dripping

The stones are the cores of stars

Still clinging to the yellow

She places these peach stones down

Delicately imprecise

She and the tree they are on an island

Surrounded by a lake

The lake it is a mirror

The stars tread water

There are no waves here.

Everything is still.

The woman she takes a handful of peach stones

Makes them dance with small gestures

She takes them one by one and skims them across the water

Out of the water a bear comes

Swimming

Pieces of sun stuck in single strands in his fur

The bear reaches her island

Shakes off the night

Take its fur and drapes it over her

They sit beside one another

Peach stones, the woman, and the bear

He tells her all about where he goes in the morning

She laughs but she knows she will never leave this island.

This is how they sleep.

Curled around a basket of sunsets.

Tomorrow they know they will do this dance again

And they smile at the routine.

NaPoWriMo 2016: Day 12

The first meal I learned how to make was carabonara
a combination of egg, bacon, garlic, pasta, and a small kilamonjaro of cheese
To this day it is the easiest meal to make
and I have made it for many of my friends who aren’t vegetarians
my Italian friend Emma, from three years ago, even said it was good! And he’s Italian so that made me proud!

I learned to cook from watching my dad
he is the best cook i know
I watch him as if I’ll absorb his muscle memory through my eyes
When I’m old enough to drink beer we drink and I keep him company while he stirs in a shirt and no tie
with a tea towel on his shoulder
I sometimes catch myself doing the same thing with the towel
especially if someone is watching

My dad taught me how to make risotto over the phone
I did a tester batch and it was addictively good
I made it for a girl on our second first date
it wasn’t good enough to make her stay but we both had seconds

Everyone in my family cooks
My mother makes the best mac and cheese
she does something with the nostalgia
maybe grates it or finely sives it
either way it is baked right into the memory

Me and my brother get along better now
I went with him to a market in Barcelona and we bought ingredients
pork cuts and oranges and peppers and such
that night we sat outside
drank wine and ate pulled pork with my family and my other brothers girlfriend (who’s basically family now anyway)
Sharing a meal is the best thing to do with an evening

If I want to get to know a place or a time i like to think about the food
Texas is filled with charred brisket and bbq smoke
New Orleans is gumbo and other amazing sounding concoctions
Britain is a roast dinner
Christmas is a ham and drinks measured loosely
France is a hot chocolate and a pastry at 7am
Italy is my favourite
Visits home are whatever dad is making

I don’t cook as much as I should

I reckon I could cure just about any bad feeling with a good meal
not just the food
but the company around it
I always feel at home when I can talk over something I made with my own hands.