space

relationships / Unexpected

A friend has offered me her space on the Sussex coast while she and her partner are travelling. A space with a cabin and a caravan, chicken and greenhouses, fruit trees and wood pigeons, a kitchen and WiFi. A space to escape from a hectic summer with a few blows – the shock of Brexit, the discomfort of a back injury, the uncertainties of my relationship that’s now come to a sudden full-stop in mid-air. A space to land, take a deep breath and maybe just take some space… Space feels like a very comforting gift – another one, recently, was the discovery of ‘pantuns’, a Malaysian verse form with a fairly rigid structure that offers safety to my unkempt mind. The two brought together with a pinch of freedom lead to something like this:

wale stone

on the edge of the old dark

watching incense exhaling last wisps of smoke skywards

yesterday the sky disappeared with the sea into a white blur

so it’s possible then

a space between sky and sea

.

yesterday sky and sea smudged into whiteness

like white noise drowning out sounds

the white space between sky and sea

blurring my memories

.

white noise drowning out sounds

a swing in a walled garden

the only memory I’m left with for company

alone up on a hill above the road from Eastbourne to Brighton

.

a swing in a walled garden

where wood pigeons bemoan dreams buried too deep

up on a hill above the valley

cars drifting by on the main road, unknowing

.

wood pigeons bemoan that space

where day and night blur into a turquoise glow

where we drifted, unknowing

a space filled with the breath of the in-between-creatures

.

day and night blur into a glow

a space, blue, blurry, timeless

the breath of in-between-creatures cool on my skin

after the day’s heat and comforting before the old dark

.

a space, white, hazy, horizonless

when did I stop feeling, like a knife gone blunt

the day’s heat, the old dark

when did I cross that threshold

.

when did I stop feeling my own sadness

buried too deep under grey motionless void

when did I cross that threshold

a rock, round, smooth with a crack like the Meridian line

.

from grey motionless emptiness

watching the incense exhaling its last wisps of smoke

it crossed the threshold, skywards

so it’s possible, then

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The Author

Writer, Photographer, Craftivist, Facilitator, Mediator, Trainer, Founding Director of deep:black. Passionate about equality & empowerment. And about anger & vulnerability.