rabbit

I really had no idea what today would bring, but a memory from nearly twenty five years ago strode into my half-awake mind as I fried an egg for breakfast.   Another example of the mental video player, picking up stuff I only half registered consciously at the time.   Even whilst eating I penned some rough notes, key images.

So here she is...

=====

Napo 20 - 2021 - Andrea:  One of my students

She was a lady of deep waters,
restless in dock,
clearly uncomfortable on dry land.
Her eyes always scanning distant horizons,
reading the waves and clouds.

Long dark hair and a weathered face,
the red-brown of a blue-water sailor.
A straight gaze, but always watchful.
A machine gun vocal delivery,
but always clear and direct.

Always busy, 'squeezing things in'.
Striding in wearing her thick jumper
and baggy trousers.
Or on wet days her serious 'storm coat'
more suited to an Atlantic Gale.

She wanted to learn 'something useful',
how to tackle editors and publishers,
'an entirely alien species'.
Men in suits and ties who spoke a strange language,
who didn't appreciate that simply staying alive,
or breaking sailing records or masts
deep in the stormy Southern Ocean
took precedence over emailing her words
to some snugly heated office.

She always came late, 
smelling of paint, or fibreglass resin,
or wood shavings, or salt water,
straight from 'working on the boat'.
She always apologised,
or phoned in if she couldn't make it.

In class she took copious notes,
focused like a watch keeper in fog,
like a bosun checking his mental list,
or a navigator over his charts
laying a course for the route ahead.

When her folder snapped shut she was away,
after a polite unfailing "Thank you".
Striding though the door, 
off to check her stores, chase a tardy supplier,
grease a windlass, coil a rope,
maybe lasso a sponsor.
Round the world yacht racing is expensive.

Walking with that wide stable stride,
as if expecting the concrete corridor
to surge or pitch under her feet,
or heel over in a sudden squall.

Gyppo

Enjoy your new place, Frank.

Oh I am,been here 7 years 

April 19

Closing Argument

I came of age during
the skinny-women era:
Twiggy, Mia Farrow come to mind
as those to emulate, no real directive
anywhere to love yourself
the way you are

but plenty of women's magazines
touting ways to starve yourself
on grapefruit, cabbage soup
every frickin' meal.

Then came the magic curative:
diet pills; dexamyl; greenies;
amphetamines; uppers; speed;
one of mother's helpers
prescribed by family physicians--
what harm?

Now picture this: bone thin;
hopped up; obssessed with
the next prescription,
I'm stopped by cops.

A ridiculous proposition, I know,
but consider this: I am a young
woman who only wants to be accepted
as desirable by 60s standards
and got drawn in.

Pretend you are my sister or my brother,
pretend you see me in the gutter
under three grown men,
pretend you have witnessed
my nine and one half minutes prolonged
death begging for my life.

Now,

pretend you hear your neighbors
and the media accuse me:
She was no angel,
What would you say?

Be careful out there, Frank.