Tag: Brisbane

Happy Birthday, M

For M.E.B


We became another death

(the fulfilment of my internship).

Like a false syncope,

my grief would not let me claim you.



You came to me with bleeding gums and a dent in your jaw,

your broken gait like a barber cutting through

walls of plasticine with blunt scissors.

Bruised pride; your face a field of stubble I so loved jiving on my skin.

But first …



you were an uncertain algorithm of desire –

because you were never going to want me the way I wanted you.

Except, on a summer’s day, under umlauts of clouds, close to the border,

we pushed a kiss right through our chests like a bullet.

I was yours and you were mine and before we came up for air,

the earth had spun off its axis.



Purling into webs of light –

the softness of your cupped hands under my sunburned chin as we

tasted each other for the first time.

As salt danced across our skin, I ploughed my fingers through your hair

as clouds climbed behind us, then sunk with the sun like sabbath.



We cut our teeth on summer.

Sticky and wet like puppets of nature.

A curtain of devotion and great folly –

I grew attached to your shadow.

I’d fall off our bed of sin as you made me come to Bach,

and you would tell me stories of how you skulked up and down Cavill mall,

devout in your pilgrimage to find me on that first night at Schoolies.

You told me you would cry as you watched me sleep;

my childishly freckled cheek hemmed in by swathes of blonde hair.

You would wash your hands with such care in the darkness

(I liked to watch your panoptic palms somersault under tendrils of water)



You would drive along the rivers reach looking for me.

Once, I saw you.

I ran as fast as my body could with bleeding lungs,

but you never saw me.

I was jealous of the wind with its fingers in your hair.



Climbing lovingly into winter bones,

we knitted our bodies into an impenetrable pod where no one could touch us.

We shunned the world with aching hips and salty flesh

stuffing our mouths full, speaking a language only we knew –

believing ‘there is nothing else worth living for other than this’. You.



But I heard church bells pealing from promises that would bleed;

fistulas of memory fractured a fall and I began barking time;

howling spoonfuls of dirt into your mouth

your perfect fucking mouth

always open for mine;

a receptacle of love and all that was good in our world.

You tried.

You were unmoving in arresting us in that space as I jettisoned the indifference,

but we rolled away from each other as old mountains do,

and I began to not love us.



I garrotted you,

throwing you from your skin;

bones akimbo to the wind,

leaving a frayed man like a barometer of truth.

Fall in, fall out.

With the biting sick that bored into my body,

you were gone.



You never got to hear my new voice

or sweep the pads of your fingers over my new scars.

I can’t sing anymore, but my hair is long just as it was that first night you saw me

shuffling across blue linoleum in dimmed hospital corridors.

(I go out walking, after midnight, in the moonlight, just like we used to do.

I’m always walking after midnight, searching for you) 



Seeking out the ground with eyes I put to bed so many years ago,

I would give you my grace (or cleave the moon in two)

but you will not let me.

So I press my fingers into the rivulets of my palms

knowing we will meet when the streets glow in their silence.

Throbbing asphalt still hot from the burning day –

just like our first days of warm hands and cold feet.



Like a splintered shard of shrapnel that will always itch under my skin,

I will always be that woman who loves you.


img_6293

‘think of me when you sleep,

warm heart, cold feet.

In your dreams we will meet, 

together soft and deep.

Wish I could be there with you now,

all my love and desire. 

I think of you in despair

oh, when will I meet you there?

Not long, one more sleep,

think of me – warm heart, cold feet.’

– M.E.B 1995

This.

 

I’m going to be a TEDx talker!

I have super exciting news. Yesterday, I was asked to speak at Brisbane’s TEDx event in October. In case you haven’t heard about TEDx, click here to find out what an inspiring global platform where people such as Bill Gates, Liz Gilbert, Jane Goodall and Al Gore have shared their ideas.

The 2014 speakers have been announced today on the Weekend Edition. I am equal parts excited, terrified and honoured to have been invited to speak at such an exciting event. I knew this year was going to be big, but this? I’m still pinching myself …

Am I nervous? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I’m speaking alongside people like Samuel Johnson and Bob Downe (I can’t wait to do my impersonation of him to him), as well as brilliant game changing Professors and artists!

So what am I going to talk about? Life, survival, writing, death and my journey to becoming a spiritual carer. You can register for tickets here. I hope to see you there!

Here’s a likeness of how I looked when I got the phone call, except I was at home …

IMG_1280

unstorm

Like blown glass, this blinking across the sky steals me away.

Lightning across the welkin – pinned to both ends of the city at first,

cirrus hovering over the west gain force

and with this force comes colour and a grubby patina.

 

They duel – fighting for my eye, one beating down the other.

Nothing can dampen this thrill.

The fat of my hands beat the wire rests of my chair

until it vibrates through me like absent thunder,

for there is no belch in the sky tonight; no puffs of sound.

 

Someone falls inelegantly into the pool –

I like when the water shakes from rolling parley.

 

A flash of a crescent moon in the west –

now that’s just showing off, mother, sister, father, brother nature.

When I look to the east, the shifts of light balance

on clouds over North Quay

like a nimble ballerina with crooked foot bones.

 

Moon rising – it skulks behind a mutinous cloud,

a flaming strap of lightning that has decided to stay.

 

Rolling athwart – the separation like a yolk from the white.

The yolk ascends in silence.

Jets cut across the ginger moon, as though shearing it in half,

cutting it open like a beautiful wound.