At your birthday, stoop lights glow through evanescence – the company hearing tender snaps of understanding in small conversation, across all peripheries. In time, away from the party, I’ll get the headspace to really become cognisant of noise cultivated on my own. Carried from small epiphanies into a place of celebration I find you inside, catch you among your others: there is understanding in the tiny exchange then as we link, burdens you’ve given up just to graduate this platform into the honesty of the night. Someone once said you can stand in the eastern suburbs and hear only silence on a two-way street, no matter how many hill crests break the sound, but here the monotony breaks. We cathect, two generations, and wonder how long I can disperse myself into this eternal childhood.
There were other sicknesses reflecting in the preparation of midnight. enveloping
House skeletons and battery pack silence, seething away from sight, you show in refuge from hardiness. Families run raw on loaded histories, going unsaid and uncelebrated. This here is utility. This here is serviceability. This here is being taken care of. Then that silence turned into blasphemy, then there is the comedown into domestic hell.
Somehow, you play both hands. Protect yourself, stay out of the public. Preparations are made while strife slowly bubbles. From below
the navel you detect things will go awry, when the children look away for
just five seconds. A passing glance is as hefty as steel. I’ve been waiting for an explanation, biding my time, but only up until now.