Splodgy Butterflies

splodgybutterflies
Originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

Underling

A candle burnt through the night
Beneath the sheets I slipped my small hand
Into my big sister’s much larger one
There was a cease-fire. It would be over by morning
We had no need for sleep, we only
Peered at one another in the hot, dark cavity
Beneath the blanket. It was midsummer night
And I saw beads of sweat on her high, dark brow
An aristocratic forehead, they used to say
But that was another day – before the occupation
A terrible fear washed over me, and left its residue
I was one with my sister, until she turned away
I dreaded daybreak, when I would be alone once again

It was winter now. There was nothing more we could do
I failed my sister and I would never be forgiven
Her picture was embedded firmly in my head
That girl with the honey-coloured hair
We whirled around the office, tearing open drawers
Some underling approached me, a leather bound book
Clutched in her hand. My face paled, my heart pounding
Then I sat, numbed, the diary resting on my lap
My underling hovered. ‘You will never understand’
I told her silently. But then she wrapped her arms around me
‘Your sister’s not dead, she lingers on. Those pages are her.’
And then I knew: this woman truly understood
Probably more than I ever would

Anchored Down

I am detached from the world once more. I am working part-time now – supplementing my income with freelance writing and proof-reading. *sigh* I shall be famous soon enough. I feel heavy, anchored to the earth. I want to fly. I want to be translucent and incorporeal again. That light airy feeling that passed with my teenage years. When unhealthiness meanthealthinesss – my paradoxical self. That was my coping mechanism and I have found nothing to replace it. Not even my first love – writing.

Some good news – I attained a 2i on an undergraduate maths test. I feel an urge to hunt down my old primary school teachers and thrust this result into their smug faces. For it was they who told me (when I was about five) that humanities were for me. They taught me to despise the sciences and maths. They forgot to mention, however, that, on average, humanities graduates earn substantially less than science graduates.

The Blues

03 April 2006 (4)
Originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

Sacrifice

I am the knight
Heavy armour weighs me down
Their queen is sacrificed
And peasants and drummer-boys
Flee before me

Burnt out buildings
Babies bombed to pieces
A full moon shines
Displacement of the divine
Deluded and euphoric

Silver ships sailing
War is not a curse, for us
It is glorious. We are flying
I am the Chosen One
The revolution has begun.

Criminality and the Underclass

I came across this observation in Auschwitz, the Nazis and the Final Solution (Laurence Rees) (I am assuming familiarity with the context): ‘…the individuals who sat at the table at the Wannsee conference were salaried functionaries from one of Europe’s great nations, not back-street terrorists, though their crimes were to be greater than any conventional ‘criminal’ act in the history of the world. Equally instructive, when some still refer to an ill-educated ‘criminal underclass’, is that of the fifteen people around the table eight had academic doctorates.’ (My italics).

School

100_0142
Originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

Nostalgia Trip

Memories

By the Rockpool

In this winter landscape
We walk, by the rockpool
To an outsider we may seem
Heart shaped and superfluous

We carve out initials into the ice
Carve a loveheart into a tree, laced
With the last fall of snow
And we do not dive into that deep pool

Dusk descends and we head out
To the end of the pier – and you
Clutch my small hand so firmly
The bones crunch within

We feel far away from the world
We hear the sound of sirens from the city
For we two have absconded
If only for an afternoon

I feel your love for me cutting through my flesh,
To my marrow. My own affection
Is a pale dancing shadow
I do not find the solidity I crave here.

Those who can’t…

Teach?

No, those who know they can’t write asinine freelance articles for those who think they can.

Hills Road

100_0143
Originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.