A poem by GEORGIE HURST.
Heavy, heavy, heart. it
Feels so warm when I despair
Into that swimming pool.
Penning out a postcard from
My cell at 42 Boromwood
Avenue, 6 feet away, separated by
Perplex glass from
The rest of the world, double
Glazing over like lacquer
Desks that they pen their
Lives out on. I am penning
Out a postcard to you.
Signed, yours, sincerely
Wishing you were here
As I force my sanity through
That crack at the bottom of the door.
Tell the folks at home I’m
Doing fine, just fine!
Basting in the sun, the shine
of the tungsten that doesn’t ever go
out. Lights on means we’re rolling
For the cameras, and everything is
Wonderful, tell the folks at home, I send
My greetings in a single line.
Lights off means footsteps
Up the stairs, up and up and up
And up till I reach the top
Where I feel sublime.
Everyone looks up at me, as if
to say ‘I know her.’ Fame
And money and cars and all a girl
Like me could want. Read my postcard
And tell them all of this moment of
Ecstasy, how my belly was full
Of the thrill of life.
How I feel that little child beating on my soft
flesh, louder and louder, and I am convulsing
Because she is rapping that,
Goddamned, knocker so hard, she is getting
A bit too excited and I am –
Still writing, writing you this postcard
It’s my way of saying thank you,
Don’t forget about me while I’m gone.
I remember that year I went to Belarus and
You painted my entire room lime green
Because you forgot I hate that colour.
I’m getting ahead of myself, I really just wanted
To say hi and send my greetings
In cursive, italicised in this ethereal seat,
Suspended mid-flight and gawping at
The passers by, and today they pay no mind.
I bet it’s jealousy because they wish they
could fly. They wish they could
feel the little drummer boy beating
his drum against their chest and know what it
means to be alive. Greetings! Can you hear
me? greetings! greetings!
I can see their faces now as I –
