Thursday, 18 February 2016

New Day Dawning - (the archival backlog 26)

old day


Day-start.

Rise.

Cross the wooden floor, barefoot.

Open the door and stand outside as the cat scratches the mat.

Scratch.

In the kitchen fill the sink with soapy hot water, almost too hot to touch and clean the mess of tester-eve.

As the grease and oil dissolve the stiffness and age of the sleeping body wash away. Listen to the radio; it’s a voice so I am not alone.

You are asleep someplace else.

Far away by now.

Rinse the kettle, fill anew.

Rinse the t-pot, short and stout.

It was a Christmas gift for you, but it waits with me.

A reminder.


Green tea, ginger and lime.

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