The whole flat smelt
of aged tannin and
a low whistle could
be heard at all times.
There was always time for tea, sarnies too.
You might call her a feeder, she wasn’t but some might call her that.
Food was a sign of respect, you went anywhere they offered you sweet tea
and food. I used a cooker
for the first time there
in that kitchen with
windows that looked
down the hill past the subways and out toward mountains, my Gran always laughed and said ‘Just a coupla wee hills.’ They were mountains to my young
eyes. She spoke constantly
in her rich Irish roots peppered with her Scottish life, if I concentrated hard enough my English mind understood
some of what she said.
Her voice was soft,
a whisper a beautiful
melody, she spoke as I grated potatoes, carrots and onion, her smile told me I was doing good. ‘Eggs, Gran and flour and water too.’ I was reading thr recipe from my mind and hoping I had remembered everything, we had cooked them a few weeks before in school.
She wears a house coat,
she has many, a blue one,
a pink one a brown one,
every morning she slips it over her clothes, I have never seen her clothes, I can only presume she wears them. She told me once, ‘wash your smalls in the sink every
night. That way you’ve always got clean.’ I asked what if you needed them…’she laughed ‘Go with out.’
A frying pan black as death and thick with grease
sizzles at my side.
My Mum also says this phrase.
‘When you cook, you cook. Stay sharp keep thoughts out’
I didn’t listen, I burn most of what I cook because my thoughts make me
wander. We sat at
the table, the small
window behind me
and the radiator to
my left, I feel warm
and safe. I don’t
recall what the
food tasted like,
just her smile as she devoured the plate.
You spoil my silence with your incessant voice,
a cat being strangled whilst you jump for joy.
Banging and jumping and so called singing too,
I wish I could record this, so you can listen to you.
Your voice is like poison
Addled with drink,
It penetrates through to the place where I think.
Your whoops and you screams
Seep curiously into my pleasant dreams.
Please let’s make an alliance,
you’re poisoning my precious fucking silence!
Dear younger self,
If technology ever develops a way of somehow projecting this into the past, then I have something important to tell you. A few things in fact.
Follow your heart, follow your soul. Right now, society is telling you that to accomplish anything in life you have to be a certain way. This is a lie. Follow your heart; dye your hair, go goth, wear the sexy biker boots, wear jeans and hoodies and skirts with trainers. Wear what makes you feel good. Look different, wear your soul on the outside of your body.
Remember them, all of them.
Remember him. He will always be a memory.
Lost and afraid and filled with confusion you cannot see that one day you will proudly be the person you dreamed you could be. Better, you become an amazing human, you love truly and unconditionally to those that are worthy.
I cannot say don’t do this, or do that, because in truth, every thing we did growing up has made us who we are today. You do become.
So, wordpress updated on my phone somewhere between then and now. I like it. It all feels very fresh and very easy to access, now. But ten minutes ago I could have screamed at it. I searched everywhere to try to figure out how to write a post…everywhere. And the entire time there was this really annoying orange bubble, jist floating there getting in my way…twenty minutes it took me, twenty minutes lost to the world of confusion, twenty minutes to realise that the orange bubble was actually the pen symbol for writing a post…grrrr think it’s gonna be one of those days!!!
I woke up this morning with this song drumming away in my thoughts. It’s been festering there for a few days now, softly humming away in the background of my chaotic thoughts. I don’t listen to music no where near as often as I should. I’m too lazy. Too lazy to switch the TV on and find a music channel that is pleasing to my ears, too lazy to sort through my CD collection and hunt out the tunes that my soul wants to hear and too god damn lazy to switch on the radio. Even Youtube is unable to entice me into its simple notion of a world of music. In a world where technology is at our fingertips I find myself becoming lazier than ever. I’m patiently waiting for the technology of the future to become the present. I long to be able to sit and think about a song and it simply appears there playing in my ears, then it’s gone as my desires slip into a new thought, a new image, song, movie. However it’s a laziness that does nothing for my creativity. As I sit here now listening to the songs that got me through my teenage years, the songs that held me as I cried tears of a broken heart and the tunes that carried me bravely into un chartered territory, I feel stronger than ever. I feel my mind creatively exploring a depth of emotions that have laid dormant for many years, and like the words on the pages that I escape into I can feel myself escaping into the words sung, the music played and the memories held that only I can know like a secret dance between only myself and the universe. It’s just like that, a secret memory between myself and the universe.
A place where I can escape to anytime I need to, anytime I want to and there in my mind as the songs of my past play out I relive those days, those nights, those stolen kisses, those moments that can never be taken away from me.