|
First |
That we are the people we are and that we live here.
That in this moment, the northern lights hang gently, beating off angels.
The sky solders spotlights to stars, you taste like fireworks at sunset,
red and blues.
That we are in this bubble perambulating this iron fence,
facilitating the world to entertain us, that hearts aren’t hearts.
Hands aren’t hands any more, bread dances around us and we are steadfast, we are of the earth.
We built a temple from love letters and bills pinned to your wall.
That we settled our debts in a single, double and triple movement. Silhouetting every vessel, bursting from every cell, every moment. My fourteen year old inner self
and your fourteen year old inner self went back in time and met.
Baptised, forgave, absolved absolutely.
That we birthed galaxies, doubled the size of empires. You a god, the father, a projection screen tuned to the universe, only for me.
I was roses first.
Before a goddess, before a mother, before a commander in chief.
Roses.
A starburst strung to my ribcage,
a vagabond sitting on my shoulder. A sunset warming the spine of my back,
like your tongue.
You told me you would take on any giant with nothing but fists and a hammer
for me, you told me the soldiers on the walls
were mine too, you created whales, elephants, apples
all for me.
By 5, we clicked our fingers in unison - not to the leaders of the free world.
Not to the good men. Not just in time
to the music, but to the honour of the finest of parties,
to the swell of our hours.
That we were us, these people and we were here, in this bubble.
That we will never forget this, the sunset,
this, the laughter of the universe, this,
the vagabond prayer of rangers and dragons,
blooming in kismet,
the season of falling.
copyright 2013
Rebecca
Gimblett |
