The woman without baggage (Part 2, in progress)

Of colour                

Sometimes she raised her hand, when early in the evening
The sky had this particular colour blue
And I was never sure if she was pointing up
Or tested where the wind came from
Or was about to ask a question

Almost like a dance move
But never moving her feet
And looking straight ahead into the distance
Never up, or down

Last time I saw her do it was in early spring
The evenings were still cold then

Sometimes she looked me in the eye  
After her hand had landed, heavily, after          
she was silent for a while and asked

Do you want a beer?
Or: how was your day today?
And sometimes: what are you doing tomorrow?
Shall we go somewhere?

She had come a long way, she said
and she showed me her maps
Glued against the window to keep the light out at daytime
Pinpricks across three continents
Which didn’t make sense to me until she asked me to stay one night
and I saw Orion


She held her breath

Leaving is easy
She said
Look at me
And she shot herself in the head
With an air gun
Air as in air guitar


In her cloudless eyes

i saw animals chasing each other in the sky tonight she said
a snail being followed by a dragon being followed by a bird
a big white rabbit was hovering over them
when i looked again the snail had turned into a person
and the dragon and the bird had become dogs, howling
the rabbit had thrown its head in its neck
it was real she said
it was real i said i saw it too


he tickled her under her feet
she didn’t laugh
callus, she said



An insignificant puncture made by a pin or similar point.
A mildly annoying wound or damage.

No comments:

Post a Comment