Tag: a.i.Art
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19.10: dVerse Quadrille
A Man with Moonlight she hums sounds of sleep,soothes her child as she observes — behind screened windows,blotched yellowed-whiteby the moonon the gated garden wall, a manwalking in the moonlight. alone. and in her loneliness,she wonders whatthoughts and hungercross his mind. Written for dVerse Poets, a quadrille of 44-words including the word ‘screen’. Some images…
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19.10: The Liturgy
#11 Liturgy for the Advice You Did Not Want(for the wisdom that arrives disguised as a suggestion) I. The Voice That Speaks Softly The advice came quietly,as a suggestion,offered with the lightnessof someone who knowsyou will not listen at first. It was wise,it settles like a stonein quiet water. But you did not want it,because…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat on Time(Or: Why Clocks Are Just Decorative Anxiety) The cat sits before the mantelpiece,one paw raised toward the clockas if delivering a closing argumentin a case he has already won. “Consider,” he begins,“the clock.A round face.Two hands.Constant ticking.And for what?To tell you it’s 3:47when your stomach knowsit is now.Now, Old Woman.Now is the…
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17.10: Stream of Consciousness
Pitch the mountains at my back, lace-up waterproof boots crunching through the ice-crust on yesterday’s snow, and the air flying white as fine gauze, the sort of weather that flattens curves and rubs out distance, where light makes no shadow and you can’t quite tell where the ground stops and the sky begins, except there…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat and The Ants(Or: A Game of Tag with the Very Small) The cat is sprawled on the warm stone patio,one paw extended,ears forward,watching tiny black specksscurry across the surfacelike a secret on legs. “They run,” he whispers to the Old Woman,“and then they hide.And then they come back.And then they run again.It’s like…
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08.10: Memory of a Spare Key
The Memory of a Spare Key I am eight, which is very grown up, old enough for my own front-door key. Happy birthday, Mum says, dropping itinto my palm. Keys are power. I know this from the way they danceheavy on chains, keeping time against my father’s belt, from the way grown-ups wear them like…
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05.10: The Liturgy
Episode 9 Liturgy for the Lawyer’s Quiet(for the facts that sit in silence) I. The Office That Holds Its BreathFenella steps into the lawyer’s office,a room that smells of old paper,dust settled into the bindingsof books no one has openedin decades. The man himself is elderly,his hands marked with the slow workof documents,his eyes the…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Claims Lindisfarne Monastery(Or: A Feline Descent into Nordic Grandeur) The Old Woman relaxes in her armchair,eyes half-closed,as Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungenswells through the room.Gods and giants,rhinemaidens and riddles,a musical earthquakeof splendid and silly. The cat sits on the rug,ears twitching,tail conducting the kettle drums,and somewhere between Siegfried’s horn calland the descent into…
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04.10: The Distance Back
The Distance Back While my little boat moves on its moorings,the day passes in mistand pine-green,and somewhere between the waterand the trees,childhood returns. The world is wide again.Trees grow touch-close to heaven, and in the crystal of the waterthe moon is comforted. There is wind in my earsand birdsfind their perches again, and for a…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Fallen Branch(Or: A Feline Inquiry into Loss and Limbs) The Old Woman comes in from the garden,arms scratched,breathing slightly hard,dragging the last of a great branchto the burn pile. The cat watches from the windowsill,head tilted. “Old Woman,” he says,“that branch was large.It was attached to the tree.For years.It grew there.It knew the tree.It…
