Home' LOTL : May 2007 Contents 27
I’m lying, waiting.
sunlight tattoos flirt
tease bare skin.
This lovers breathy dance
… leaves lying waiting.
Three weeks later I’m still torturing myself with indecision.
Voyeuristically I’ve been prowling the forums, sniffing her out through her
threads, scenting her responses, marking her profile notes. I’m crouched in
waiting now for the alert I’ve set that allows me to know when she comes
online. I’m Bambi stalking the Lion King while making pasta with the last jar
of nana’s pasta sauce. It’s a good excuse for another visit.
Nana coos her fenek ckejken inside and clucks me into her arms.
I breathe her in and soak. Then she is plucking at my ribs, tittering at my
skinniness, my paleness, at my living all alone. I don’t eat enough, how long
since I ate a good meal? I assure her it was just now before I came. There is
a huge bowl of rabbit stew in front of the dog and an even larger one in front
of me. Nana is being busy, getting me fed, all the work out of the way so we
can sit and talk. She is rummaging in the pantry, filling a box with home made
wine and preserves and chilli sauce, tomato sauce, pasta sauce, sneaking in
the smoked pig despite knowing I’m vegetarian – except for her rabbit stew,
my Achilles. Still, Xadina will feast.
I’m watching nana but my mind has left the couch and padded
silently out the backdoor and into alleyways of fantasy of the Blak_Vanila
kind. My breath has snagged in my throat as pupil dark eyes have unearthed
secret hungers. She has lifted a finger and trailed phosphorescence across
my cheek, lingered to unsnag my breath and feathered across my responsive
breast. I am burned. My lips are swollen, yearning, flushed with desire…
Flushed with shame when I see nana watching, at the brazenness
of such thoughts in my grandmother’s house. Convinced that she knows the
nature of my mind’s roaming, my attention has slunk penitently back across
the lino threshold to curl restively on the couch.
At last she sits and waits. I pluck my courage and my thoughts, still
treacherous hands; blurt, babble, wait. Nana passes sugar coated almonds
and talks of their sweet attraction and arsenic centres. She tells stories of
her youth and their Ghana sung back and forth across stony fields, to flirt
and flaunt new flight feathers. The choices they make to sing or to silence.
In Ghana she sings of wit and feigned heartbreak if snubbed she should be,
and die from desire of he, she or me. I sing that I won’t reply and together we
‘die’ dramatically on the couch, clutching broken hearts and choking rowdily
on sugar coated almonds, with Xadina adding tongue kisses for effect.
Home. Warm. Smiling. Cupboards are overflowing and Xadina
lies curled underfoot. Nana’s presence is a hovering halo. Behind me in a
shadowed crook a blank screen eyes me portentously and I am resisting its
insalubrious allure. I pick up a book and slip on my ugg boots in a bid to re-
member my pre Pink Sofa comfortableness of just five weeks ago. The third
time I read the first page I give up. The screen jeers from the corner as I reach
for the power switch. ‘Just one more time,’ I tell myself and then I’ll cancel
my subscription. Absolved I sign in. Just one more sniffing at scat. Familiar
fear thrills through me as I prepare to shadow the hunter, then freeze in mid
stride, I have a new message.
‘I’m waiting for you.’
It’s from her.
Wednesday 9th May
6.30 for 7pm
49 Glebe Pt Rd. Glebe
“A complex thriller and unique
reading experience from
Australia’s most maverick and
Dorothy Porter in
conversation with Andrea
Stretton about her new verse
novel El Dorado
bookings essential: 02 9660 2333
Links Archive April 2007 June 2007 Navigation Previous Page Next Page