He is asleep, stretched out just behind my chair while I work.
To be so unashamedly insistent on being close to someone is something I admire in animals.
A noise downstairs has lifted his head with curiosity, ears pointed and ready.
Now he is gone, without a feeling of guilt for such sudden departure. Another thing I admire in animals.
No. God did not cure Your cancer.
Nor did He burn down Your house to teach You the lesson of new beginnings.
And He wasn’t stroking Your hair while You nearly lost Your mind.
It is all reckless coincidence like the exploding stars of how We began.
You came through with Your own two hands and star dust in Your heart.
So take comfort in that.
The Moon tapped my shoulder through a thin gap in my curtains.
I was startled, because I didn’t know the moon had fingers. Or a hand. Or an arm for that matter. Or that he would want my attention so urgently, it seemed.
“Yes, The Moon?” I asked.
“I can see what you are doing just now” he replied.
“Oh…”
I was sitting crossed legged on my floor, cutting up my life in to small slices, like you would a peach. Each slice glistening and juicy, alarming flesh colors against the pure white of an ordinary dinner plate.
“What a funny thing to do with your life” The Moon commented.
The truth is, I was sad. Sad, restless, confused and thought that if I could see each fragment clearly then perhaps I would be able to piece it all back together somehow and start anew. A fresh piece of fruit to hold in my hands.
The Moon then reached past my shoulder and stole a piece right from the plate. He ate it greedily, juice running down his wrist and arm. Yes, The Moon also has a tongue. He used it to clean the sticky mess with.
“No!” I cried to The Moon.
The Moon’s hand was reaching for more, so I hunched over the plate to protect the remains.
“It’s mine” I said, sheepishly.
“Then enjoy every single slice you foolish girl. It will do you no good just looking at it.” The Moon explained.
He was right. The Moon is always right.
In winter, his fur grew to a healthy length and thickness which inspired you to enjoy with clenched fingers. Fist fulls of black fluff.
Summer time scissors and clippers. Shhnk, shhnk, shhnk would echo throughout the house as mum released him of his hot coat tangled with burrs.
At the end of each of his haircuts we would form the excess fur in to a side-on shape of his body.
The fur from his very last clipping sits in a plastic bag in my mum’s bedroom.
I had a day dream of opening that last bag of fur and forming it in to his shape, the shape materializing in to a real life form. Bringing him back.
Hold a leech tightly in your hand.
Its greed and blood lust will disgust you at first.
But watch as the parade of your veins dances in to its body.
Don’t fetch the salt, let it burrow inside.
There it will stay and live as an impulse which brings your hand to your face over and over with a violent thwack.
Hello, bear with me while I practice my writing. I will space out the sea of words with some of my art/photography every now and then.
