Before the Bees Came
The hair grows around my finger, constraining my blood-flow. It squeezes blue into the tip. He squeezes blue. I see him at a distance, but his breath still drizzles heat onto my shoulder. “Stop it,” I grit, “stop it.”
I am glass. I am a dirty window. His breath is condensation. It is sticky, slow, viral. After the affair. It’s always after the affair.
Of course I’m naked! Of course!
The bed is dry and cold. I leave the windows open. I want the flies to come and indulge in my shit. It’s a feast, a gargantuan feast. Eyes open, and he’s there. Next to me. Hand cupping my breast, knee forcing a jigsaw connection: I don’t need to see him. He is the other side of the world. If I run far enough, I’ll come back to him. Limp in bed. I’ll come back cupping his droop and trying not to touch his hairsweat arse.
A spider-web threads its way through the flower bed. The spider waits. Nothing. The bees will come. The bees will come. And honey flows. The bees will come.
The wall is too empty. I need photos. I need smiles and friends and proof of the love. I was promised more. My mother promised me more than a walking sack of shit seeping over my ‘well, cream will sell...’ selected carpets. I am always ready to sell my life to the highest bidder.
The cat sleeps at the end of my bed, head facing the nameless-because-it-will-probably-die-soon goldfish. Pinnocchio lies dead next to me. Just a tangled mesh of wood and wool. Oh, so I am Geppetto. His creator, version: Incest. I made that arse. I made that droop. I laugh. And I laugh.
The thread breaks, the spider waits. Nothing. The bees will come. The bees will come. And honey flows. The bees will come.
The hair around my neck tightens. The whore line. Elizabeth I called it the whore line. My finger is frozen. My hand is numb. Under the weight of my glass body, the mattress sinks. I am glass and hair. I am a wig-shop window. The wood clatters a tribal rhythm behind me. The cat stalks. The goldfish pauses to drown.
My eyes are pearls. They will not shatter. They will roll, roll onto the cream. And he will ignore them. And he will grab his tools, his mining tools, and chase coal. Snow White now. So I am Snow White. In a coffin. Waiting. The prince will come. The prince will come. There is no sin. The prince will come.
I lie, garroted. The flowers rot, the spider trapped. The thread drapes over the branches.
Fish Eye View
White two white bumps brown metal. Bubbles and castle and hide hide. I have a fin, I want to see my fin. BREATHE. BREATHE. Perhaps I could jump. I see light.
White two white bumps brown metal. White wall, white carpet, bubbles bubbles. Pebbles and pebbles and blue grey. Long hair, stop, stop, long hair. My bowl is dirty. Clean, tail. Clean. I have a fin, I want to see my fin. I see light.
Mist. Mist. Mist. Mist. Mist.
I will attack that brown, hungry. Bubbles and castle and hide hide. Long hair and white bumps. And feet, peeping. Toes curling. Pebbles. My bowl is dirty. I see light.
Material draped around glass, a curtain frame. Up, up, up, up. How did I get here? Snow storm, over there, snow storm.
Mist. Mist. Mist. Mist. Mist.
I hear. I have ears. I have a fin, I want to see my fin. Move there, left, left, right. How did I get here? An arm, in the air, curled fingers. Teeth, brown eyes that. How did I get here? Long hair, snow storm.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
Ohohohoh. OHOHOHOH. OOHOOH.