End
From our UK edition
We learn how every item is its own army the day we split the house down parting lines; the bookcases ready to be divided: the little troops that stand with their stiff spines.
Daniel Hardisty
Thursday
Thursday
Siempre | 1 August 2013
From our UK edition
I am not jealous. If you arrived with a man on your back, or a hundred men hanging in the rigging of your hair, or a thousand men sleeping on the soft mound of your belly, if you were a river filled with drowned men met by the furious sea foaming at its mouth, by eternal weather – if you arrived with them all where I wait for you, I would not be jealous. We will always be alone. We will always be, you and I, alone on this earth to begin life.
Thursday
Siempre
From our UK edition
After Neruda Facing you I am not jealous. If you arrived with a man on your back, or a hundred men hanging in the rigging of your hair, or a thousand men sleeping on the soft mound of your belly, if you were a river filled with drowned men met by the furious sea foaming at its mouth, by eternal weather — if you arrived with them all where I wait for you, I would not be jealous. We will always be alone. We will always be, you and I, alone on this earth to begin life.
Thursday
The Drowners
From our UK edition
They have done this before, the two lovers, each believing the other is drowning – parting their lips as the salt water covers they smile at the precision of their timing. There is a simplicity in the bound hands: the skin’s shudder, the bubbles on blue lips which rise like tiny unheard songs, the strands of weightless hair which billow and collapse. They have learned the patience to fall and drift as the skeins of sunlight dissipate; and to measure in secret the other’s weight: then wriggle free, let drop and begin to lift; and not to think of who might take the gift of the seabed’s blank and tender slate.