Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Double Six

A sunbeam pervades our days. The sunbeam whispers, look, forty cents for a bag of vine tomatoes from the Turkish market. The sunbeam points, there, see? The sun is collapsing onto the canal in a basket of golden wicker. The sunbeam is an ever-eager parrot guffawing on our shoulders. Its enthusiasm is hard to ignore. All I can think of is swimming pools and open air; really, I am a simple girl. My mouth tends towards the upwards. My calves stain with pollen and grass and bruises. I fall over. I run down runways. I talk too much. I walk with friends in a sundancey afternoon and I hear my words ever-repeating, I like that balcony, I love that building, I think it’s beautiful, I like, I want, I do, I adore it all. I would like to be silent and snap my heels with the tweet of the birds, but I just can’t help myself.

I am waiting for a boy to get here who matches my mouth for the stupids; we’ll make a cardboard circus and whip the pony with a green felt tip. I am waiting for black balloons and the hell of it. I am crossing my fingers for all the best ones and starting a second city where we twat and yelp and inhale. Here we get to be easy, craft a career of rolling the gnocchi and acting the fool. We’ll lure people to our dining rooms and when they get there we’ll ply them with the feast and the rub and the serenade. Don’t you know those office hours have sharp teeth, serrated edges; don’t you know I’m eager not to tear my shiny new patterned dress? If I have to, let it be on the bear traps and the tinfoil tinsel. Let it be climbing over a barbed wire woven of comets and starfish. I’m ripe for bruises and breaking, but in my own triplicate terms.

What I’m trying to say is that we’ve rolled the double-six in springtime and I’m sorry my mouth won’t quiet its whooping. What I’m trying to say is that it’s still March, goddammit--we have a hundred summer days still to come. What I’m trying to say is hurry up and get here. It’s really good. It’s better than anything you’ve ever anticipated.

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