Tuesday, March 6, 2012

hello, i'm london

Twice this year I've seen trees go amber and naked, (you can see the real shape of them) looking perfect and perfectly dead in the sky. I was promised that things are going to sprout again. (Looking at nothing in particular, constantly, eyes glazing over.) When they were dying in Athens I practiced my eyeliner, winged, thought about becoming pale and slim, deserving of takeaway coffees and cigarettes, thinking 'if I had cigarettes I wouldn't feel this hungry'. Aware of new followers, eyes on the street and in the office, up and down, up and down again. Everything is tenderly connected in a schoolyard secret sort of way: opening a book to find pages about the namesake of my new suburb, parallel initials, the same size jumpers, flannelette, socks to bed. I can navigate this, my dear. But if I die on the tube because of a terrorist it will be okay, I will smile, my ears filled with sound.