Tag Archives: Relationships

The end of the line

It slips from your fingers, abandoned like flotsam on the deck.

I daren’t look down. Your skin.

It’s warm, and salty, and smells of promise.

Soon it will be dark.

The tip of my tongue. The sweet muskiness of you. The air cooling on my naked arms,

sweet, crisp and cold.

Anything is possible, and I dare not

take my eye from the telescope.

The faintest scent of wildfire, barely discernible.

And from the desert

the distant sound of gunfire.

 

An exercise in creative writing, using the senses, that yielded a surprising result. Part of my portfolio for my BA in English.

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Little Blue Angels

I dreamed I was dying.

My mother lay across me

crushing my chest,

studying my eyes with interest

as I watched the little blue angels

fly out of my mouth.

Stretching carbon fiber wings,

gaining altitude,

swept up on my last. Gasp. Then.

‘Breathe,’ she said.

And so I did.

Shifting her dead weight,

she put her lips close to my ear,

and with a soft breath, whispered.

‘That’ll teach you to have mommy issues,’ she said.

‘The Pelican Tree and other poems’ by Marnie Devereux is now available from Amazon, worldwide!

Notes From a Broad, November 2014: Dick’s Fix-It

Nothing focuses the mind on a chilly November morning like a broken central heating system. So started my Monday. The flawless blue sky had me temporarily fooled until I crept out of bed to feed the kettle and put the cat on. I was greeted by an arctic atmosphere and absolute silence where the industrious hum of the furnace should have been. Dr Nick makes an urgent call to the maintenance guy, and during the conversation inadvertently refers to me as his fiancée. I am touched, and delighted. Dr Nick’s ‘once bitten, twice shy’ approach to anything resembling marriage has been part of a difficult journey for us, so now I feel slightly less bad about accidentally calling him ‘my husband’ last week at the library.

Fortunately Dick, our repair man (‘Dick’s Fix-It’) is an efficient and ebullient soul who is on the doorstep within the hour. ‘You must be the fiancée. Cute! You have the same accent as Nick’. I launch enthusiastically into the full 5-minute version of the big love story and, looking only slightly uncomfortable, he replies ‘Um…if you could just show me where the thermostat is…’. Note to self: Arizonan men do not necessarily want to hear a big old love story when they have only just met you and are trying to get on with their day’s work.

It was the thermostat’s fault, as it turned out. Blown at some point by the electric storms during monsoon season, was Dick’s best guess. After some fiddling with wires and one minor electric shock later (‘Nah, I’m kinda used to it’), it was all fixed.

Half an hour later we are best buddies. Dick has just bought a ’91 Harley-Davidson from a Vietnam vet, and we are well into the ‘great rock concerts I have witnessed’ theme. ‘Grateful Dead. Man, I miss those guys’ says Dick, wistfully, as the conversation comes back to our prospective engagement.

‘I proposed to my wife over a bottle ‘n’ a half of Jack Daniels’ roars Dick. ‘Next mornin’ I pretended to not remember a thing about it. But my wife, she remembered every word!’

As we shake hands again, and make vague promises to get together at a decent gig some time, I make my second mental note of the morning: must buy a bottle of Jack Daniels next time I go shopping.