A New Set of Eyes
When I was born into the world this morning, my eyes were gummy. You were lying there next to me. Beautiful as always. I may have amounted to nothing but yet you lie there still. Every morning. Beautiful as always. I love to simply stare at you. I need nothing beyond today.
When I was born into the world this morning, it was night. Before dawn. I am young. I can take on different forms and shimmer a thousand ruby red smiles on hungry girls’ lips. The women I will have. Adventure is my blood. I shudder through the atmosphere.
When I was born into the world this morning, there was a bright light. Alone as usual. I smelt toast. They must have been to the shops. Was it so late? The weekend? The builders in the flats across the street were not there. I was hungry.
When I was born into the world this morning, you were shaking me. The children jumping. Up and down on the mattress. The world was a tumble-dryer. I shouldn’t have drunk last night. I shouldn’t drink any more. I am getting too old. It is a sign. The end of that part of your life when you are able to cope with things robustly.
When I was born into the world this morning, I tried to slip back again. Sneaky-like. Back into that sleepy world from which I had come. Light and colour and shapes are not what I want. Is there not another place without space. Outwith space? I long to slip, slip back but it is too late.
When I was born into the world this morning, it was late. The day is fractious before midday. It has not had time to settle. Winston Churchill got up late. Samuel Beckett got up late. I am in good company. He died of emphysema, I am told, by Wikipedia. Beckett not Churchill.
When I was born into the world this morning, I was covered in slime. I prolapsed out of another creature. Unfamiliar to me. I do not cry. I will not cry I tell myself. Placenta fills my mouth. I look at everything, it means nothing to me, and it rushes at me like a wave.
I cry.
I imagine what horrors they must have seen here only yesterday.
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© Lochlan Bloom 2019
