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Location: Dublin, Republic of, Ireland

Saturday, 23 June 2007

another old prose but one of my favourites that will follow me to the new blog

And After... by Suzan Abrams

AFTER WE HAVE MADE LOVE, I BECOME THE CLEVER, BRIGHT OWL nesting quietly on your shoulder. Perched comfortably and cuddled up close. Breathing the strong close smell of your neck with its tiny diamond scar and hiding in the long damp locks of your hair. I am a happy prey, craving this entrapment. I am the owl, I tell you, just watching and waiting like plastered wood...for the swing of an iron mood; adjusting my smile and always wanting more.

Wanting more of a strange fresh mark that says to everyone, you kissed me. A bruise I wish would never sink into oblivion but would instead rise to power, like a warm ripe flower. Or perhaps the needle-sharp marks of your fingernails from where you have held me in a steely embrace, that now winds itself around my arms in neat straight rows like a spiders' legs.

I am so frail, don't you know that I will break?

You hold me close and smile comfort. And yet in the next moment, you smash me like thin glass onto a hard wooden floor, again and again. Then you wait to count the splinters, measuring my recycled limbs and dismissing my damaged soul. Or perhaps it's all in my imagination.

I know that you love me. When I see you with eyes closed and pretending to sleep, I dream of a rippling orange lake long soaked by the burning sun. It makes me see strange twirling shadows everywhere. The lightning has now passed and I smell the blossoms. If you become angry, then I change my wings to sneak into your pocket. All gossamer gloss and with a shine to enthrall.

Sometimes, you grab me and hold me so tightly I cannot breathe. Sometimes you pounce suddenly to see if I am really all there. I sit tiny and huddled in your pocket, curled into my matchstick fairy legs. You scold me and ask me not to make a noise, not to whisper a sound and not to turn around. And whatever happens, I musn't wave my wand for anyone to see. I oblige.

Yet you hold me tightly, threatening to take whatever is left of my breath away. My eyes cannot turn to anyone else. I look straight at you, while you bind me up carefully in a mummified bandage of emotions. Your hands around me masquerade as a straitjacket. I am in love and so I smile contentedly.

Sometimes believing we are all wrong for each other, you say you want to crush me with your fist. Instead, you command me to behave and insist I rise to my feet before you kiss me. I sink, bending backwards like a rubber doll. Would the heavens break open just for me? I am the owl, I tell you. I am the owl just watching and waiting.

And yet, when I pretend to be asleep, I see you watching me. Wanting to wake me up to beg for more. Your face moves stealthily across the pillow to cover mine. The quiet stalker, like a panther in the dark. Inching your way closer and closer. My eyes already closed, I shut them tightly yet again. And then I breathe your breath like the way a destitute would swallow up an oasis. In this new darkness,I catch the light.

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