Polaroid Beneath Tissue.

 

A vast and beautiful sadness must have unfolded overnight, because when he awoke in his jumbled sheets, there it was, imbuing everything, and he found himself wondering of her return. Wondering would she be the same?

Would she appear to be younger or (somehow) older? Would the tangerine fringe she favoured of late have faded, becoming less lustrous; no longer a shade above the bows of her brow?

He pictured her as she had been the night she’d left – in her elegant charity; the purple turtleneck hugging her tin ribs; the polyester highlighting and hardening her pips, the satin rubbed rabbit knuckle of her palmed hip; her bare feet shuffling the carpet…

Would these vintaged threads be replaced now with new raiment? Would white musk sillage still kite and spill from her? Or, would she now fly some strange and unknown fragrance? Would she appear made-up, lacking, indifferent, crass?

Would her speech remain

this loose and languid haiku

a lending of ear

…requiring a leaning and bending into (over the sound of Pale Blue Eyes)? Would she retain the charming and childlike habit of truncating and clipping some un/certain phrase – because it seemed to him that when she spoke, the world beyond her words softened, it sweetened a little. They hummed and honeyed in his head, his heart, and life beyond his frame took on a quietude – not unlike a polaroid beneath tissue.

 

 

 

 

 

33 thoughts on “Polaroid Beneath Tissue.

  1. Nick, I’ve now come back to read this about six times. I’ve come to the conclusion that you said it best (no surprises there), this is what reading this is like:

    “the world beyond her words softened, it sweetened a little. They hummed and honeyed in his head, his heart”

    (albeit with different pronouns, if you know what I mean).

    Your shit haiku is everything but shit. The whole thing is beautiful and feels deeply intimate, picture included. I may have a new favourite of yours.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Rachel, I had a most wonderful birthday over the weekend – heightened not only by the last few months plague confinement – but by the seemingly now rare company of beauty & & warmth.

      I received some lovely gifts. One of which was Polaroid Beneath Tissue: and for this (and your words) I am grateful & revitalised.

      All love, IM&O.
      xoxo

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I sensed this piece was deeply personal, and now the puzzle pieces are coming together. I felt the beauty and warmth in it that you mentioned. And can’t help wondering if you are in the Polaroid Beneath Tissue. What a gift.

        Happy birthday, Nick. Sending love xoxo

        Liked by 1 person

    1. I didn’t know I was a fan as such, Ingrid, but perhaps more so than I realised.

      I was introduced to the adventures of ‘Sir Gawain…’ last year by someone who is a huge fan: so maybe I listened more than I understood at the time!?
      xoxo

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Just a quick question; I read it as a haiku within free verse, rather than within poetic prose, but the lines are pretty blurred either way, but curious to know the intention! Thanks , Paul

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Ha! I’m not sure – it started life as a diary entry, edited, became free verse, poetic prose, became a love letter, blah blah blah! You are right though to read it as deeply personal.

        The haiku in the middle there is something of a personal joke. I always thought she spoke in some loose haiku as lovers often do to one’s ear and also I have a bit of an issue with haiku. I like it but it often seems a bit of a cop out! 🙂 So, yeah, it’s a joke within a haiku wrapped up in a prose poem…or something!

        Phew! Bet you’re glad you asked now!

        Liked by 1 person

      1. 56! Youngster! I’ve just turned a ripe old 58….I’m only trusted with candles in the bath, anywhere else she knows I’ll have the flat burned to the ground…

        Liked by 1 person

      2. … I have managed of late to melt the (plastic) cistern whilst bathing, with a tea light! I have to hide the conflagration from my landlord with a pot of deodorant placed carefully over ground zero, so to speak!
        xo

        Liked by 1 person

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