Disorder

White fists coiled into sea-bleached rocks

She challenged me

I’m only to eat blue food this week

Then returned to her resolute silence.

She breakfasted on blueberries

And the Atlantic swelled behind her bruise coloured lips

Dripping onto her small bare feet.

Next I found her squatting on the linoleum,

coltish knees bunched under her nightgown

Picking the dark veins from a piece of stilton

With her thumb nail, chewing the mould.

At nights I heard her pacing

Her gut a hollow pip

As she squeezed the hot sharp Colgate

Into her piranha mouth.

Two days later,

I saw her pallored face lurking in the flower bed

Stained with the blood of clematis, iris, violas.

Then mutely chewing the skin

Of a cobalt, cord cushion.

I gave up, and infused the cold rooms

With the smell of a rich hot bolognaise

crimson with tomatoes

our shell house swooned for one piping spoonful.

I sought her out

Sat cross legged on her bed

From between her coy half smile peeped

One stunned, azure eye.

 

Charlie Hall