Postcard 13


I’m looking among the white bloodstained plastic containers in the harbour among the warehouses.
A pile of cut-off cod heads are staring at me like ancient ritual masks. Burgundy colour, blue and silver. Like money.
Like money in your mouth. Like silver, you are staring at me with your bloodstained eyes and the splinter in your heart is doing it´s work and everything shines like money and further out in the ocean is a magic tower of wealth and prosperity
that makes your heart beat stronger and harder.

Someone’s children are screaming and turning into small animals. They are leaving and will never return.
And you hear the children, and you hear the fish, and you hear history and you see the future; but your mouth is stuffed with silver and not a word is coming across your lips, as in a dream, as in some movie.

The girl is running towards you and her arms are open and you are open too, but you cannot find your luggage because you probable thought you could just leave it somewhere and that no one would care.

We are on a beach, we are on a street, we are in the mountains, we are in a hotel room and I turn my head and someone is passing just then. Passing and falling, and as she falls I make an impossible movement and as I grasp her she is rapidly shrinking.
She becomes a tiny form that fits perfectly into my arms. I’m holding her in my arms like a small child.
She is so warm and beautiful. I will take care of her forever. I will love her and I will never let her down.

The other people are standing in the blizzard and soon everyone will be covered in snow. Next time I look in their direction, they are moving into the white while they are waving their flags.
Then everything becomes white.

Zoe Christiansen 2009

 


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