Mine

Our intimacy existed in a vacuum

The early hours of the day

And if you ever asked me if I wished

For things to have been different

Adamantly, I would have said no

And yet, there is one moment

I've never told you or anyone about

You stood at the doorway of your bedroom

Looking straight at me

You stopped, just for a moment

Perhaps switching off the bathroom light

i don't remember

You stood there naked, looking at me

As I lay on your bed

Perhaps I smiled at you then

Everything felt so light, golden

These early hours of the day that were ours

There was a softness to what I saw

Your almirah, ajar

A backpack on a chair, clothes on the floor

And then, you, standing there,

Looking at me

And just for a moment,

I wanted more

God, I wished you were mine

Gingie Biscuit

Gingie is too often hangry, meowing complaints about

A lack of food - even though her bowl is so rarely empty

Sometimes, she will bite or scratch in protest

Of how badly she is (supposedly) treated in our house

And yet, when she finally found her way home

After a two-week absence that left our hearts aching

And our feet too, after long searches in the neighbourhood

Her eyes reflected the relief and joy that surely she saw in mine

This cat, ginger and clingy, annoying but affectionate, had come back

Even though she could have found a new home, like she had claimed ours years ago,

Forcing us to open our doors and hearts to her when we had already

Decided we had had enough with the pain that comes with a feline's death

And now she sleeps on my bed, tummy rising up and down

While I work on my laptop right next to her, thinking:

This is the life I want - this love and contentment that comes with

Sharing your house with a (mostly hangry) cat that only has love to give

Word of the day: hangry
feeling irritable or irrationally angry as a result of being hungry

glass

The glass dish that belonged to my grandmother

exploded when I poured cold batter into it

to make goddamn toad in the hole for dinner

I say exploded, but it made the faintest sound and

suddenly there, on the table, a mess of broken glass

and dripping batter and blistered sausages

I know what happens when you pour cold into hot

I had read about exploding bakewear so many times

and yet, it just never occurred to me tonight

And so, a new batch of batter whisked and poured into a different dish

and placed in the oven

I sat on my bed, trying not to cry

thinking about how unkind life had been lately

taking and taking and taking

giving too, but mostly, taking

and I thought, 'One more bad card dealt

and I will be done. Just done.'

And then I thought about how I'd thought this very same thing

a few weeks ago

but so many bad things had happened since

and here I was, still.

They talked about resilience and perseverance and strength

when I had to put on a brave face and pretend everything was fine

and I would think about how it had

nothing to do with bravery

we got through one bad day after another

not because we wanted to

or still had some fight left in us but because

we had to.

You know, it never occurred to me but when things between us died down

an inevitability given the one-sided-ness of our feelings

I expected the end to be dramatic and explosive and loud

but it wasn't. It was so underwhelming

almost like it didn't even happen

everything seemed fine one minute

and the next,

it was all gone.

Grief

Death and grief

Always hand in hand

In my mind

There could be no grief without death

No death without grief

But many deathless griefs

And some griefless deaths later

One is free of the other

Deaths, not recent

Grief, so everyday 

Kingfishers and bulbuls, parrots and magpies

A kingfisher sits on the fence and I tell Olive

To make a wish as it flies away

Just as my grandmother told me

Years ago, when I was still a kid

The kingfisher doesn't budge

So I tell Olive, who has just turned three (in human years, not dog),

To forget the wish as it surely won't come true

If we stare at the bird until it flies away

A woodpecker, a deep red, pecks on the mango tree

Two parrots sit on an overhead powerline

A flock of seven sisters sing their high-pitched songs

And a bulbul builds a nest in the verandah

And so they go about their lives

Just as I go about mine

Each with our own joys and sorrows

Whether brought on by magpies or not

And I hold on to some childish hope

That a brightly coloured, long-billed bird

Unaware of its wish-granting powers

Could bring me luck as it flies away

Word of the day: bulbul

venn diagrams

Let's call this what it is: grief

I always thought grief came with death

That they were inseparable

But no, there's another kind of grief

This loss of people

Attributed not to death, but to life

You are living your life

And I am living mine

But why must this mean

Circles floating in empty space

Sometimes touching, bouncing off each other

And never overlapping

barbed wire fences

You learn to protect yourself

Telling yourself little lies

That sound convincing enough

You need to protect yourself

I don't date

Because of a fear of commitment

And not being able to prioritise

A relationship at this point of life

(but not because by the age of thirty

i've attracted a whopping zero men)

I don't drink around certain people

Because I will say the wrong thing

And hurt the people

I know I need to let go of but don't seem able to

(and not because drunk me always talks about

a certain man i'm trying not to think about)

I'm choosing people who bring me happiness

Because I've decided to put my interests before

Those of others

Choosing myself, instead of another

(not because the people i thought cared

have proven otherwise - a grief i still cannot process)

I sent you a message after saying I won't

Because surely we all deserve that second chance

To finally do the right thing

And maybe you were just busy before

(and not because I'm still not ready

for this to end)

friends forever

my mother watches me struggle to hold on to all the pieces of my heart

as they break and shatter and pour out of a cavity in my chest

she hurts too, for there's nothing she can do but watch me with my grief

when i turned thirty, i prided myself for having figured out a way to protect myself

i convinced myself out of what little desire for romance i felt

just so no one could hurt me the way i had seen other been hurt

but here's what they don't tell you about heartbreak: it's not always the boyfriends

or partners or spouses. sometimes, it's the ones with those more believable promises

of forever, with that warm and safe embrace of friendship

and heartbreak at the hands of a friend? i don't quite yet know what to

do with this grief

Creature of habit

You used words I haven't heard before

And my drunken brain couldn't comprehend

What I thought was interest turned out to be

The exact opposite

And yet, sesquipedalian,

You stuck to your bloody ways

And I got lost in the mumbo jumbo

Of flirtation - or whatever the fuck it is you were trying to say

Word of the day: sesquipedalian

given to using long words; (of words) containing many syllables

fire

the saddest part of all this isn't that

i could make a bonfire of all the hurt

you left scattered in my life

but that even as the fire crackles and burns

i would give you another chance

and another and yet another