Abandoned neural pathway

I found myself down a road I abandoned a long time ago.
I was hard enough for a little bit of ugliness
and a place where that feeling of impending doom made sense
or at least, felt less strange.

I went down that road again looking for the broken old house
You know, the kind that makes you think that after all,
there is room for the dead in this living world
—terrifying and beautiful, like the sea.

There I spoke to the dead old woman
Who refuses to think that she died and was supposed to go to heaven
and she laughs at me saying that I’m more dead than her.

“Don’t you know that it’s all a killing ground, everywhere?
What’s alive is what you put life into, 
and you’re here on a weekday, even before noon. So tell me who’s dead, child? Me, or you?”

2017, Maison abandonnée dans le lieu-dit La Pitonnière, sur la commune Le Teilleul, Normandie, France. 0x010C

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