Verse

What can you do when you like pain?

It’s a bad thing when you like pain,

because then you practice the art of incising your skin 

in ways that leave paper thin cuts that only ever hurt 

but never draw blood;

kind of wounds that only sting, but can never kill a thing.
It’s a good thing when you like pain,

because it’s the thread that runs through our everyday, 

woven into our very grains.

Pain is that unbearably soft thing that holds 

happiness’ frame of reference in place. 

It’s a good thing to know,

on first-name basis, 

it’s a good thing to get comfortable with;

as long as you stay kind to everyone else

and, in the eyes of the law, to yourself.

Photo—Piet Biniek, fotografie.pietbiniek.de and http://www.artdoxa.com

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Verse

Too much rosé


“I’m Taking a year off to head Downsouth,

to be by the ocean and collect my thoughts.”

 

“That is so lovely, I wish I could do the same thing. You really deserve it.”

 

“I just want to step away from the circle

to kind of, deconstruct myself, you know.

Because lately, I’ve felt like most of myself

is borrowed.”

 

“I know, I know- my sister’s friend did a similar thing up in the mountains

and she came back radiant.

Now she makes jewellery and its

going really well. I’m happy for you,

this is so exciting.”

 

“Yes, it is.”
.
After three months of drinking the sweet South,

where at nine in the evening

your options are to sleep

or water the white anthuriums,

a rosé in hand

half-listening to a voice documentary

about Syria (to keep informed)

and the racket of crickets (to keep going on).

In either case, there is only one option for the view: the grand night of ocean sounds, serious stars and coconut palms.

This full-circle view for the last ninety two nights is now cut into the back of my eyes;

and in my long sleeps there was only one dream that I had-

long palms and white stars that swum drunk in a pink sea mass.

 

If at nine o’clock in the evening,

while you are watering white anthuriums

in the seaside South

with a rosé in hand,

you find yourself wondering

‘Now what?’,

clearly, happiness is a semblance.

                                   

Marjorie Content

Image – Marjorie Content, Anthurium, Gelatin-silver print, 1931

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