Her kohl rimmed eyes danced over her glass
An impish expression lit them
And she spun circles around the minds of men;
They were drawn in, all of them
By the cheeky grin and her insouciant, almost irreverent chatter;
Uncertain laughter on their lips as they discovered themselves wanting
Facile homilies being uttered and passed as quick wit then
To catch her nimble brain
They ran hard and gasped for breath and looked up
Why were her eyes still dancing?
And so it began, all over again
She had a loud laugh that made people nearby cringe
A booming voice that commanded attention
A big girth that demanded space everywhere
People rolled their eyes when she jostled past them
What a waste of a person, they would say
As they watched her clutch all the bags of food around
Screaming at those trying to push her out of the way;
And a hundred children hugged her and loved her
Her big heart grew every day encompassing all with love
And the bigger her heart, the bigger she was
This Mother Hen.
Deadpan face, sotto voice
You droned on in my brain
Like a little stain that I could not rub off;
I drank you down with some whisky
And drowned you in a little rum
And resurrected you with a shot of tequila
I finally slept with Gentleman Jack by my side
And some ice down my chest
To ease the heart ache.
Neurotic I may be
But darling, what are you when you hold me close
And say you don’t believe me
Even when I lie bleeding
A knife through my heart;
It pumps, I can feel it
Doing its’ job
Pumping and gushing
Not knowing that it is killing me;
There is warmth and heat around me now
Blood red warmth
Your eyes are red
Are you crying?
Why are you screaming?
There is warmth around me now
And here you called me cold blooded and stone hearted!
Is that why you are crying?
Well, apparently I did have a heart
And now am lying there
Why do I look red?
I think I prefer the colour blue.
Is that why you are burying me in a blue cloth?
That is a nice colour
Though I am not sure I like mud on me
Can’t you just burn me?
I like fire
Which is why I loved you
Mother told me I would get burnt
If I played with fire
And boy, was she right?!
Yesterday I danced
Through the path where we had once walked
Hand in hand;
Where you had broken my heart
As you walked away;
I danced and it rained
I licked at the little drops as they fell of my nose
And laughed aloud;
I danced the way I longed to when I was with you
I danced till I could no more
I loved till I could no more
And then I walked back home with a smile.
Freedom came with the price of love
And what price freedom?
I wore my heart on my sleeve yesterday and allowed him to feast on it. Every inch was a new meal, and the red blood his dessert. He got his nutritional value from it, the carbs, proteins and the fat.
And of course, the daily requirement of a li’l bit of love.
And then he washed it down with my saliva, kissing me as he devoured my lips, for that li’l bit was not enough.
“More!”, he cried.
And so I gave more, pouring out all of it, letting it gush through my veins to my lips.
Blood red, they were a seething mass of flesh soon.
“More!”, he ground out against my teeth, crushing them to powder underneath.
“More!”, he screamed as he pulled my breasts out in his hand, squeezing them harder than pain itself.
“More!”, he screamed grinding against me, until my pelvis was nothing more than brittle bones.
And then, when he had it all, he looked down and said, “You are damaged goods. I can’t stay with someone who has let herself go like this”. And walked.
“More!”, I cried out to his shadow. “I am more than that!”.
She laid them all out in shrouds, one by one, on the earth.
And then buried them.
No tears were shed as she worked mechanically, no rituals observed. She thrust the spade further, shifting the mud, ensuring there were no stones that could hurt the little bundles.
Finally, the work was done and she stood up, stretching. The sun was just beginning to peep out for the day and she walked back to her life, without a look back.
They asked her why she wore black at the office that day and joked about being in mourning.
She just smiled and said, ” I like black”.
Dreams of children belong in the graveyard, but dead dreams require mourning and so she mourned for a day.