a thing (4)

today

the brain was shovelling 
all the good things
all that is golden 

just digging down lifting up with flourish

whoosh

to have it all fall down on me

you've seen the kid 

who has the right idea at the sandpit 

or amongst fallen flowers at the park

invoking glee

glee, can you believe it 

locally sourced, organic

being able to love what I already have 

wanting what is there for the taking

the blood in my veins laced with gratitude 

rushing rushing 

turning every light on

there appears to be external collusion as well

every song on the list 

hitting and smashing the spot 

till I am just a spot inside the spot
swimming 

the production value of the scenes outside the window

top class

and I smile, it turns to a grin,

humour! inside me! 

welcome welcome hello 

 
and then a knowing, 

win or lose, this is a fucking good game 

a small thing (3)

a grand aunt died 

I went to see her body

and the people she left behind 

so there was her tiny bird body

laid straight on the floor

'ah, death does not become her'

fly swatted that thought

then I noticed three grand daughters, 

three dots on her sides, an elegant arrangement 

their grief magnificent

how ideal to be loved

how satisfying to have people cry

you are gone and they are sad 

they are sad you are gone 

I felt happy

I wanted to congratulate her, so I did 

no, I didn't think of who would grieve for me or how 

what a thing

I thought instead, of

whether the tiny paper cups contained coffee or tea

how the day was, cloudy and sunny, a confusion, a mystery

what a beautiful home they had next door, with their potted plant garden and white painted grill, 

how if I lived there, I may feel compelled to wear mallipoo, 

or at least busy about with a towel holding my wet hair as I watered the garden and mumble-sang a prayer

is my cousin seeing anyone

how will my aunt manage her pain

who is this now

I chatted with a line of uncles sitting on the parapet wall

about small things

jobs children visas 

in the midst of everything 

small flashes of my self rose up and washed out

disturbing nothing 

a thing (3)

yesterday, I had a taste of freedom

I opened my mouth to yawn

and it flew right in 

in toxic ating 

I stopped what I was thinking

and pushed my brain down to my chest

and stomach

so I could feel instead

so I could incorporate into my self and sense

this freedom

a small taste, with a note attached

'sample only. not for sale'

a thing (2)

where should I put this? 

what is it? 

all the unhappy thoughts

entangled in unhappy feelings

projecting unhappy visions of an unhappy future on repeat

quite the baggage 

there seems to be no place to put it 

that is genuinely out of sight out of mind 

I mean

out of mind is out of question 

out of sight does not do much 

is out of mind really out of question?

does out of sight really not do very much?

don't

baggage sucks

repeat sucks 

unhappy sucks 

the hopelessness that rises like a stink from the whole pile

really fucking sucks

burn it? the whole pile? 

with what? 

people do burn rubbish all the time

bad for the environment though

what I'm saying is 

you can't really get rid of things that way

without consequences 

recycle?

ha

there's a thought 

a thing (1)

who has the mic?

I've been thinking about shame 

she isn't loud like the others

in fact, she rarely speaks 

lets her henchmen rage or panic do the talking

and how they blunder and bluster and 

yell, a lot, to the point that if you manage a pause you might stop taking them very seriously

almost the comic relief 

a dark comedy,

very popular now no 

and I don't always catch it

but sometimes there's the edge of a shadow

a small flash of white 

a glimpse, glimmer 

sometimes a whisper, a word, or two

straight to the heart, stomach

slash, slash

oh

she's here 

what do you imagine she is like?

hiding, slinky, withdrawn, vaporous 

none of that

she is solid

a force 

you bow down when she appears

you crumple into a pile at her feet 

shame is a Queen 

and dis mantle ing her is no joke 

a small thing (2)

if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? 

so, there was an incredible crash, 

it did not belong to our sunny clear morning 

it was extra ordinary and loud

and yet

we were unmoved

I heard it 

a small thought flashed (what was that?) as I sipped on hot water and pulled my child with one hand onto the sofa to read him a book or two in order to buy myself some potentially guilt-free time after. A tiny blip crowded in amongst three other thoughts of most ordinary things, worry, guilt, tiredness

ordinary things thunking around in my head

there were others too at the breakfast table

I don't know their thoughts but 

there was no pause, 

no looking up

no meeting of any eyes with a question mark

'what is up with our world today?' 

la di da

turns out it was a tree

a humongous tree crashing 

right outside 

so

if a tree falls on a busy road and there are people around to hear it, does it make a sound? 

a small thing (1)

 this morning, there was an act

well, it was not an 'act' but had some qualities of a performance gone right
though it was an act gone wrong 

what I mean to say is, her intention was to place the glass container with leftovers nobody wants to be reminded of, 

nobody wants to think, oh look at the ridgegourd palya (coated in oil and what can only be self-shame) we are wasting 

while the world goes to ruin 

to place it on the counter. She was not aiming for elegance or anything, but there was a flourish that snuck into her system just as she moved to place it,

and the glass container misread the impulse 

and flew 

magnificently, I'll add

just simply flew out her hand, a glorious leap, a moment of complete freedom,

I'm tempted to mention it catching a slice of sunshine (but, it did all happen quite quickly and slowly at the same time, so this I will omit), 

and then, in an unbelievable fashion

you might ask what is unbelievable man, what goes up must come down, but you were not there so don't talk and learn to trust, there was a temporary sense of confusion in all of us watching - what, how - how did it crash

the confusion was not, how did it leap
it was fixed on the crash

we were with it as it leapt, there was joy in that movement (moment) 

and disbelief as it crashed

well, ridgegourd palya dealt with (that was the good part) 
now the wreckage

so, a few moments of silence in us all, 
brain clearing the table of everything prior, to make space to make sense of this spectacle 
one deft sweep

a little recce

palya contained to largely one splat spot

large pieces staying more or less close to point of impact

the mid sized pieces 
they seized the moment, I'll tell you 
they really capitalised on the escape potential of the whole fiasco
they went far and wide

the smaller pieces, in confused orientation, 
indicating a lack of control or investment in their own selves and outcome

the tiniest pieces, settling into the safety of the mosaic floor
their fate undeterminable by me, or you 

for a flash, I connected with this container

this ex-container

the container that was, and the leap and smash that allowed it to somehow be seen as something other than a container

anyway

we cleaned it all up, best we could 
and got on with our day