the art of losing

3 Oct

There are some days when nothing gets done. It’s Friday; it’s eleven o’clock. There are papers all over my desk, and on the floor are drawers I’ve pulled out from my other desk because I’ve lost a poem and several sheets of pale duck-egg paper to print the poem on. I emptied out the drawers pretending I might find them there but knowing that the folder in which I kept them is somewhere else – the library, the post office, the greengrocer. I’ve been into all those shops but they say no – they haven’t seen such a thing. The green grocer opened a dark door, kicked a cardboard box on the floor and shook his head. The woman at the post office said I’m so sorry –– what is your telephone number? The librarian remembered I’d asked her for a pencil and smiled sympathetically. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster. But right now the fluster is too much – papers, mess, anxiety. The wind is blowing, the blinds are rattling. Now it’s raining. At least I’ve made my bed. It’s got something to do with Jane. I keep saying her name over and over like Mr Rochester. We did Jane Eyre together in the fifth form. Our teacher told us there was much evidence of lunar display. Jane said she means lots of moon here and there and we turned the pages looking for the moon. There are bits of Jane all round the house.

54d1f25c-2e12-4f2f-a800-2b6704218bdbIllustration – Angela Barrett


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Steph Matuku

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