Miakoda

 

 

Memories

of a girl half broken yet intact
eyes of the ocean, vision of the world
spinning just a little too slowly
she can't wait for it to catch up.

Memories of winter moonlight, orange streetlamps
running tirelessly through snow at midnight
pulling on blue leather gloves and matching boots
listening to “You've Got It” through headphones on that bus.

Sitting in a hot city cafe
eating baked potato, stirring coffee
talking nonsense with a friend
watching others on the outside.

So many clothes, so many colours
clinging fabrics, tiny dresses
hair pulled tight or let loose
spraying perfume: Obsession or Poison?

She wears Alien these days.
Irony lies in her eyes.


Sharing jokes with her transvestite friend
who lost his job as a barman.
Gay man=HIV=AIDS=Death
so he's retraining as a chef now.

He has a curious home
full of global artifacts.
She stays over quite often
and when the rain froze, she couldn't leave
so they opened beers
and laughed at the day.

Those Monday mornings, shredding papers
written on Friday afternoons
making coffee for colleagues
speaking to strangers on the phone.

Winter nights leaving the building.
Dark and cold, she sees injury, anonymity
so much traffic, taxi's crawling
she waits in a queue for that bus to safety.

Traveling forward, she watches the window
looks at the distortion and darkness there.
Her face, does it really look this way?
And will she remember this moment later..

 

 

 

© Miakoda 2006

 

 

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