As I nap in the currents of undiluted ocean with its vibrant sea salt cleansing my salty soul, I notice: I am taller here. Cast long, with the shadows uninterrupted by anything– my shadow is graceful and still and I wonder: what might she be thinking?
When my body wakes me. It’s still dark. I open the window above my bed. The whispering dawn snuggles down. Down into my hair. Down into the space between me and my sleeping bag. Which I sleep in despite the closet full of sheets. The whispering dawn lifts me out. Out into my running shorts. Into my cheetah print bandana. Into my bright blue … Read More Composting
in a black rubber suit zipped to mid-chest, the two sides flapping in the sea gusts, flapping to the beat of the lurching dinghy and up and up and down down to the choppy Arabian waters, his bare foot braced on the lip of the bow foot tendons flexing, whooping unbridled as the sea spray leaps to his curls— pauses his laughter for only … Read More The French Diver
Soft, tiny raindrops fall to kiss my skin and the whole earth tingles, like I’d fallen asleep with my arms tucked in and now they’re waking back up, like birdsong on a rowdy day reminding me the danger is gone, like this peaceful prompting from my waterproof self that I am here and listening. This tiny rain is so much more than refreshing.
I looked at the map. Pointed at Cornwallis Beach. For the sake of direction, not destination. The day was Monday and free as butterfly, and I chucked Dune, my notebook, a Tupperware container of rice, an extra sweater, and my colored pencils in my backpack and cycled to the train station. My launching port would be the Glen Eden train station. Thus equipped, I … Read More South by Southwest
My chin is a microphone– I tap it twice and the room quiets. Look at our Universe; so connected like this. And I, a part, a breathing form beneath the branch. How did lonely become something bad? Lonely, lovely, gently— I am here connected. Who I am, I am.
I am a creature of freedom— a creature of freedom. Freedom is tricky. Some days like— mind beats, judgement calls, unsound spectacles unsheathing my soul in sub rosa places only I can see (but boy do I feel). Some days, more like— crawling away hand over hand grubby knees scoot across dust. All the esoteric giggles become covert, stealthy, tainted by criminality.
I am becoming less and less attached to the young female finds herself genre; the rows and rows of book covers featuring strong tanned white females gazing into the sunsets with sloppy grins, mangy hair, and fluorescent teeth. The promise of “life-changing”, “truly inspirational”, “will make you want to pack a bag and go save the orphans”. But when I picked up Ffyona Campbell’s … Read More Spirals in the Sand