piles of grey half washed pots and pans
concrete walls and sterile tile floors
Little blue things in a shelf
Shel of the former place
You would sit on the coner table
Order the usual and sit in comfy conformity
It’s your usual time
Your usual place and age
They walk past as your drink arrives
And stares into see you
Smiles, hugs, kisses? Not today.
Hide that disappointment
Earnings are new, red pinpoints
Always orders something they have to tried yet
You know that’s how it always went
More smiles, laughter and food
Smells so great
Order wines to match the drapes?
Your have not always been sad
Empty as you are now
This place was like a home
A member of the family and it said things so quietly
You only just noticed when they put up the prices
It didn’t seem so full of or on the go
You came anyway to meet your bo
Smiles always now, kisses you adore
Until today’s grimy discovery
Piles of half washed pots and pans
Your handprint leaves a mark on the window
You message a new place to linger
Little things that you remember is all that’s left
Until that day you forget
Pain pain pain On my tummy again
So much hurt
Im sure I will soon burst
From all this suffering
I want to turn to sand
Be blown across the land
To be away from the pain
That brings me back
Again and again
I take my turn too
Stroke her feathers
Softness it defined
Down her back from
Her head they have
Made a trail. For my
Fingers slowly follow
Every vane, rachis by
Its downy roots. They
Shiver at every little
Touch as I reach down
Her bottom curls
Tiny downy bits
Mixed with the
An old beachfront is drying Oceans once were full now dry
Death stench now gone
Replacement is the carapace or corpses
Preaching over this new desert
White bones, dark sky
No rain will fall
My salty tears
The only wet thing left
Viss was in her dream world. She recognized it immediately. A wide blue ocean was to her left. To her right a huge brown cliff-face. The brown sand below her. This wasn’t real. This beach didn’t even exist anymore. She knew instantly that she was asleep. Her right arm was really their. It’s gone. Long replaced by its cybernetic replacement.
She could watch this dream. She could see what happens next. She could re wound herself. No. She would not let it hurt her again.
Instantly she was in her bedroom. Not awake. Her arm was still their. She moved it around. In reality her cybernetic arm was on the bedside table. Awaiting her to attach it again. In her dreams it was real though. Real.
She remembered the day she learned what reality was. Her lecturer in the Psychology of Life and Death described it.
Suddenly she was in the room. Lecture hall 221, Yale University. She’s doing her Bachelors here then her masters. This is the hardest class. It’s all about coming to know your own flaws. Viss knew hers like a old friend. Her arm hurts. The cancer treatment has been unsuccessful. They were going to remove it just after the end of term.
The blue moon chairs with 20 students on them were all glued to Professor Pandemelon. His thick green glasses, hiding the only bits of skin on his face not covered with hair.
“Death. I’m afraid isn’t as clear to those who have not yet had to face the prospect of their own death. You have to imagine your own death to confront your fears. Your feelings. Then, and only then, can you come back and say to those who you will eventually treat how to deal with it.
Of course those that have had a constant presence of death in their lives, will instead face, inevitably, the fear or prospect of living.”
Viss knew just then that Pandemelon was talking directly to her. He knew about her cancer. How it had only affected her right arm. How it didn’t spread but was growing into the rest of her arm. Eventually it would spread to her chest. Her lungs. Her heart. Killing her. Between now and then she had to choose. Take her arm loss as a well as she could or choose to die.
Pandemelon knew she was having second thoughts about the surgery. He was a really good psychologist. He was able to tell, and then give her words that helped. He just looked at her in his seat in his office and soloemly said.
“Viss, you will die. Every one does. I’m going to die one day. I’m going to be hopefully old and grey and have had enough when that day comes. You can die too. Today. Tomorrow. It’s scary. It’s full of doubt. It’s like big dark door you can’t see through.
You have a choice though. For now. Sometimes we don’t. But you do. I’m not going to tell you directly what to choose. I’m just going to let you know that I’m not going to be disappointed what you choose. Your dark door, or to switch the light on. Both are full of more fears, bravery, choices, and you are at the moment choosing between them. Okay?
You are a wonderful student and I have always admired the way you have tackled your flaws and are applying your skills. I’m going to tell you though I’m recommending you for the fast track masters program. The world needs more people like you to look after it. Especially after the Incident.”
It was at the point that both these conversations merged into one in her mind. A glowing light to her dark.
Viss chose to live. The Cancer can get fucked.
Down by the course dirt lane
The hard presence of the pebbles
Cutting the hot sun baked grasses
It’s grasshopper, working to raise the littlest flags
His tiny little empty empire has hard times
Drought and floods, growth and death
They both come as a hash brown
Sand wasps and birds seek him out
Each with a different evil agenda
If either are successful his empire ends
Nothing left but his little flags
To be rotted out next flood
Or burned by a forever sun
Grasshopper has to raise his flags
To bring a mate
Will his family be a reality?