Previously posted in Symmetrical Stories, in a more prose-like format.
My life is bounded by
- I’m sorry, I forget…
blank rectangles of layered brick
Sometimes I find an opening
but dare not pass through
for fear of losing my way back
Those I live with
their faces are clear and familiar today
though sometimes each greeting
is a new and frightening encounter
Their names come and go
like a mental extraction
fugitive caterpillars in word salad
I’m sorry, where are you taking me?
The moments of lucidity are worst
you babytalk me
telling me patiently what I know perfectly well today
though yesterday and tomorrow may be jam-less
Have we had tea yet?
…and you try to teach me new ways to suck…
those things you tap with spoons?
But I remember you
we built sandcastles at Camber
No
I’m wrong
you were someone else’s child
My life is bounded by
– yes, of course, walls, I know –
and sometimes I long to pass through an opening
and rest there
at peace in my yesterdays
I debated with myself for some time as to whether this is a prose-poem or miscellaneous prose, but I sometimes read it at poetry readings and no-one has objected yet. Written as a writing exercise in 2006 – as was Teleworker – when for some reason the NHS offered some of the people it was about to discard the opportunity to take part in an online writing workshop. I guess my mind turned for some reason to something a lot more frightening than redundancy.