Sunday, March 18, 2012


You can breathe me in,
but find my eyes and promise
you won’t breathe me out.
–Tyler Knott

  Her home is an exhibition she has lent the world to see. Dappled with lines and colours of varying shades, these flattened trees are pricked into the walls. The air she lives in sways with the gentle breeze of silent but present love.

  They trudge, they stroll, they tiptoe through her rooms. Some with eyes stretched wide, others glassed over with their own knowing, they gather up her creations while at the same time, leaving them behind. She smiles gently at each and says ‘thanks for coming.’ (sometimes she feels like they aren’t even aware that she lives there.)

  At some point or other, they turn to her. They know that when they leave, they will speak of her. But only he asks, ‘you created them all yourself?’ Startled, she whirls around.

  She is familiar with the creaks and corners of her own, but these new rays flood her irises and suddenly she sees through all that into his. His exhibit. There’s a pretty row of strong porcelain white as she receives his first smile. 

  Then he leaves. But she knows he will be back. He will be back when the hands of summer reach into that space of hers through the patterned window.

No comments:

Post a Comment