Of Being. Human. In Memory.Kristine Hawes, 2009
Flash. Bright white line across the iris like a scalpel blade. Photo fade.
Arm trailing in a puddle of winter rain, sleeper’s tears. Woman’s fears. In any other place it would appear as child’s pose, recompose. Not found amongst the sadness, loss only a needle prick, blood thin and thick, in small doses of manageable life. Golden fabric tarnished in the muddy ground. Shhhh. There is only sound.
Flash. Scalpel blade. Photo fade.
Long ashen hair, in a similar face. Could find no trace, of life in the empty space, between ribs three and four, as if the bathroom floor contained the emptiness of chilling world, cold door. To the secret life of tender torment, the moment, when life breathes a single awesome breath filled with the anger of moving through time, moving through creation. The elation, of that unique pinprick death of bliss. A sweet incubus. Kiss.
Flash. Bright white line like a murderer’s blade. Photo fade.
Dry hungry tears and dusky, succulent skin, a hollow well within, toward which we all must turn. Some with burn, some with scorn, some unwittingly, full of painful vain and blame, some with shame. In the bright white flash of the moments of time fine creation’s move, we all must prove, must mark, and hearken, back to the soul. Of God.
–TDD, Ó an aisling a cara a chónaíonn le pian, dó.