shh...

i'm waiting
hiding in the jungle
waiting to see
who'll come for me
waiting to be fished out
cleaned off
and told i belong on concrete.
the jungle is as quiet
as a jungle can be
perhaps no one is coming.

limbo

how stubborn are we
castaways of cultures
climbing over the walls
only to peep through the cracks

transient trysts

this is the tourist variety love
the buy-one-get-one-free kind of love
just passing through madam? why not
rest yourself here with me kind of love
try a taste of the local culture love
if you like what you get leave a nice tip
- that kind of love

remedies

the horror, the horror
murmur the girls at the parlour
this layer of the working man's
tan marking the climb
(the wrong way) down
and hushed whispers discuss
whether to bleach it off or not
perhaps a traditional rubbing off of
while friends and family debate
whether a suitable boy would make
it alright, make it all white again

family resemblance

daughter you have stolen
my face and i cannot bear
to see how you wear it
askew as if it were true
that it now belongs to you
to do with as you please

a chance of rain

a hush fell

oppressive

like unfallen rain

then a voice

heavy and humid

spoke to the waiting

brace yourselves
for here it comes!

slicing through
sharp and cool

clarity accompanied

by the

d
r
u
m
m
i
n
g

of patient

condensation

whose time has come.

touch

your fingers
flutter
and come to
rest
like lazy Sunday
afternoons
in mute response
to mine
tracing
the outline
of your bare
back

mother, not wife

i thought of telling you what the children did today
but you no longer want to know and it isn’t my place
to say any more

woman

i carry all that remains
of you with me
not just in my heart
but divided up neatly
in heart, handbag and uterus
a soul, a snapshot, a memory

write writer write

maybe it's time to embrace
that other face; the one
with the solitary fate
to stop finding side streets
and shortcuts and head
for that winding way,
the destination that has remained
constant since the age of six
maybe its time to combine
life and a living, becoming
at last who i was meant to be
poet alone with her poetry

single

because life happens
i won't wait around
for it to happen to me
i will walk out on my own
and just happen to be
a living and loving
version of me
i will sleep in my bed
diagonally
i will rise with the sun
and sip a truly girlie tea
cinnamon or camomile
i will go out and smile
at all that i see
and refuse to explain
when suddenly night falls
and i want to go home
to be alone and sleep
diagonally

only just

i only want
the love of one man
so let it be
yours tonight
i only want
to hold your hand
to hold it forever
but just for tonight

discovery

i went on holiday
and that’s where we met
me and who I could be
it was awkward at first
common ground was hard
to find and we had to turn
to talking about the weather
it was a sunny day
and it was raining
somewhere else

the same room

tears fall from the ceiling
and the walls shudder and heave
at the memory of bearing
the weight of my sorrows
of holding me close as I died.
coming back now i can see
it has yet to forgive and forget
about me.

possession

They’re crowding me out.
The picture frames from past lives.
The dusty books from college years
with philosophies I used to share.
All those clothes I used to wear.
These odds and ends that hold me down
and don’t take no for an answer.

past/present

it already feels like an impossible dream
my very existence at this moment seems
to be fading slowly away into the pages
of a dust colored old photo album or magazine
of some sort, relegated to the back shelf
and eventually forgotten.

farewell for now

why do I look at myself as if for the last time?
it is not as if I shall cease to exist after all
as the plane touches down on the runway
and kicks up the dry hot sand, nor is it likely
that my skin shall slip right off my bones
and lie in a crumpled heap on the dust
to be replaced by my patchwork suit
that coat of his desires and her dreams
of their perceptions and those crazy scenes
so why do I feel as if I need to say goodbye
to that slightly left of center me?

sweet

hey angel face,
do you know
what’s even better
than a bowlful
of sugar cereal?
yes, indeed
that would be me
a lucky charm
tucked right into
my belly button.
stay in touch
it's been crazy
let’s get together
sometime later
and I’ll tell you all
about the weather
in the south

just browsing

searching the eyes of strangers
i see a rainbow of me
replete with hopes and dreams
fears, limitations and wayward
curls flashing across windows
of brown, blue and green
like window shopping sometimes
i find exactly what i was looking for
a naked reflection in the glass

coming home

some are born lost
and come to find
that home was just
not where they left it
but just a little way
to the right
and they know it
when they find it
for the earth rises there
to embrace her children

Thank you people of Galle!