|An Afternoon with Visions: edit No 2|
Sitting at your desk,
The expansive window
Framing a garden and the sun
The thick paper I enjoyed
Winding into the typewriter.
Page ready and empty -
My hands fiddling with the ribbon,
a yarn tangled around the steadfast ‘Z/z’.
While you read behind me and I
Pretended a search for words, my mind
Conjured visions of your straight spine:
The steel rod implanted to keep it straight.
I began to finger the keys - each shape
Took on your flesh;
The underside of your ‘b’ breast,
The long curve of your ‘l’ neck,
Your thin ‘M’ lips
Or clasping ‘w’ fingers.
The ‘s’, your bent leg, the knee, a valley of ‘v’,
The ‘o’, a cheek; your body seen
Whilst performing a Louis Nowra play
Titled ‘Visions’ in which you played my sister.
15 years later in my room, the sun
Falling upon my ragged garden, the blinds
Pulled closed, the dog barking to come inside;
You shed a green, flowing dress
And the red lace underneath
While I unbuttoned my blue shirt
And pushed away my ragged jeans.
You pushed away my kiss
I sat up,
Mentioned limited time –
I was performing that evening
In Genet’s The Balcony.
The journey ceased as words and time
Made us stumble and splutter
Like a fire that almost catches
Yet does not.
I sit at the computer;
Outside the wind
Pushes a single piece of paper
Across the wet lawn:
A remembered smell sends me reeling
Into that almost moment so long ago.
27 years later I think of that steel rod
And your sea-green eyes
And sad heart that would not let go
On a similar sunny afternoon
Almost different from any other,
When I lacked the courage
To face your temper; to stand naked
In its tempest,
To shout like an undaunted sailor
That dwelt in my heart
For that moment, on that particular afternoon.
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