Thursday, 13 August 2009


Cloudy, opaque, creamy pools
rock steadily at the bottom of gummy bear imprinted plastic.

Circular ripples cascade towards warm shores
so that it’s hard to recognize the dense richness
lapping at ankles, forming skin around edges.

Experience like a bowl of Cocoa Puffs
slowly transforms white milk
into a caramel tint,
gradually tainting ripened brown waves.

Soggy balls bob like shipwrecked seamen
drift further away from comfort,
into uncharted sweet waters.

She stirs her long, lean and elegant silver spoon,
hoping to give rise to some answers
Mistaking puffs for alphabets,
creating currents with her search for letters.

‘It’s not a black eight ball darling’
‘You won’t get any quick-fix responses’
Her mother starts to gather crispy, hardened breadcrumbs,
to leave a trail for someone, anyone, later.

The girl turns the cereal box around in her hands,
reading cardboard stories,
‘Did you know that one bowl of Apple Jacks makes you jump and snap
with sugar rushes and popcorn highs?’

She likes to imagine magic ingredients
will transform customary mornings:
pink bunny eared slippers shuffling into a Formica kitchen
sitting at a blue and white checkered tablecloth
waiting for mother’s voice to pierce an early dream mist

Exchanged, instead, for handsome tattooed sailors,
gallantry and greased hair right out of the 1950s
Fiery wisps of smoke escape nostrils,
full-lipped mouths whisper salty sea secrets.

She holds the spoon to her ear,
so she can hear
soothing chocolate words that create an intimacy
so dense, that they gather like beads of sweaty condensation
on temples, glass pot lids and rolled up summer windows,
so rich, that she can feel the buttery sense of communion
spread languidly inside her

In that brief moment, futility lifts, purpose crescendos
Radiant purple lights cascade into the room
like bright spandex clad ballroom dancers.

Spotlights move in synchronized rhythms
The cloud disperses, a cool illuminating breeze
runs through her hair, faint clapping heard in the distance

Until she clumsily drops her spoon
milk splatters, breaking the spell
‘Now why did you go and do that honey?’
her mother’s voice a pick that breaks
multihued ice into neat little chips
used for refreshing Mai Tais, G&Ts and Mojitos at pool parties

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