In a previous life, I’m pretty sure I perfected the art of bartering. It doesn’t fail me, even in the 21st century. I’m not great at the 21st century. Bartering is the ideal system for me. Based on a very important and flexible system, where value doesn’t involve exchange of money, it seems more equal. I’m naive about exchange of goods for money, though I recognise it has made the world ‘spin around’ for centuries.
The morning after
I explain everything while you’re sleeping;
how I got lost by the river, how the banks were
slippery as eels, how time slipped away, yet
got caught in the weeds at the same time. How
the hooting of owls hypnotized me. How the boat
called me on board; the turbulent water, the throb
of the engine lulled me to sleep.
I was alone, no one touched me, I wasn’t afraid.
When you wake, before I say anything, you assure me
you’d like to tear the lies right out of my throat. I’m
delicately removing splinters, the needle still hot
from the flame. I feel like the rabbit’s foot dangling
from your key chain, the one you shake in my face. Not
lucky; more like severed, more, loss mixed with shame.
On the first day she learned not to wear underwear
or tight jeans: they mark…
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I’ve found a dozen drawings I did for my therapist a couple of years ago, ‘to explain my mood this week.’ I wasn’t keen on explaining it in numbers (explain your mood: one to ten)….especially as I have dyscalculia….and numbers are meaningless to me. I can’t say he appreciated them….but I did them anyway. It’s interesting for me to look back at them….