under the stars (acrylic on canvas)

waking alone in the home that raised me. these walls need cleaning doors need closing rooms need to be exorcised. I strip my bed and the one they leave out for my little brother. he won't be home for Christmas. washing machine rumble underscores my typing sighs remaining neurones I can't will to cooperate. grey clouds hang low over the trees over the flowers and the day to come. I hang the washing anyway.

waiting for rain in the sunroom. I watch the cat sleep through the glass table. breathing gently curled into his tail I wonder what he's dreaming does he dreams or is he free to rest in peace? songs you sent me dance from one window to the next. I paint a memory of us (under the stars) and wonder where you are.

we talk about movies

my friends bought a cat and a cabin in the woods. I drink their tea and take their tour down the hall / out the back / upstairs. every room is beautiful and filled with books. plenty of room for paintings on the walls. for the first time I think about slowing maybe stopping maybe coming home to settle down. they don't ask about what matters so I don't tell them. we talk about movies instead.

drinking takeaway coffee waiting on a bench between the market and the water. reading all about love. still thinking of you. in the car dad asks if I scared you away. I don't like the question and don't know if I want to know the answer. you once told me that these eyes could make you cry. it's funny you're the reason they won't stop.

I miss you or at least the way it felt. I hope you're doing well out there.

at the wedding

mum cuts my hair after the rain. she started back when we were kids to save money and I don't know if she's good at it or just knows my hair better than strangers. on the balcony I sit she cuts and does the job in minutes. the wind takes care of any evidence. in the mirror with less hair I look a little younger than before. I wonder if you'd notice / what you'd think / where and how you are.

I wear a black shirt to a wedding. my brother recognises the purple tie I bought for my first funeral. the bride has done her back / sits in a chair / can't join us for a dance. I thank her for inviting me with little more to say. we drink from glasses that shatter when we drop them on the dance floor. not knowing anybody I am moving just for fun without the burden of appearances or consequence. I think of dancing: in the smoke / the dark under the bar / nothing in my room. the floor is cold and almost empty. you're there glowing without knowing.

in the supermarket carpark

home for a moment to remember to forget. Saturday morning walk in a break in the clouds / the rain. along the creek listening to the stream / my mother talk about work and her friends. she wears purple and sometimes holds my hand. I take a photo of the clouds over the trees over the water. this place is beautiful. I wish that I could show you. dad slips on a rock trying to cross the river. wet pants wet socks we cancel coffee plans.

waking to a hailstorm on the windscreen in the supermarket carpark, waiting for my parents in the backseat like a child. the stones are heavier and angrier than ever. through the window I watch the asphalt disappear in minutes. the stones fall quicker and louder still. craving something else I open the door and step out into the tempest. I stand on the street in the hail, let the ice fill my hair / cleanse my skin / freeze my heart. when I close my eyes I still see you. when I open them I scream.

a stranger dreams

a stranger in the mirror forgets his dreams without someone to ask about them. remember when we'd colour every morning for each other... an absence is a hollow / is a nightmare / is just another boulder. silence is a sentence / is a valley / is some other kind of sacred. a stranger says your name like a prayer. you're not here though the silence screams. he can't hear himself think.

anything

stars travel far

you grew your wings

I miss you more than anything

white walls

I peel the evidence of who I've been from my childhood bedroom walls: pictures / postcards / assorted debris drawn from different corners of a map I only trace in memory. the paths are blurry in the dust of time since they were made. the walls are white and all but bare if not for chips from fossils of saudade unwilling to let go. but the room feels bigger now. clearer and cleaner and nearly ready to forget. I pile the sacred with the scraps and remember I change shape / change tune / hurt less and grow with time. tides take and matters of the heart change colour in the stream / the sun / with every passing nightmare. this will hurt until it doesn't and the time it takes won't matter more than you or how it felt. when it doesn't something else will. no matter who remembers you will matter anyway.