A Hole in the Brick Wall

Walking towards work; dreaming about being rich, staying in bed, champers for breakfast, bending our legs together, and trying out the waffle maker.

Reality floods back and I realise my skirt is too tight; the Covid Spread, like a Biscoff addiction, gone wrong, has me in its hold.

Walking down the ally towards the office, noticing the Passion Pop bottles placed randomly near the old broken door, and feeling university nostalgia coming on like an awkward chance meeting.

Turning back, I see the brick wall, and a door leading to more bricks, pipes, a hidy hole for one. A cat passes over there looking for food in the bins, and I feel sad; humans shit me sometimes.

Standing in an ally, hoping no cars come by to take me from my thoughts, and staring into the magical Dandewrong wall portal, hoping it will take me to another dimension; away from the grind.

Nothing happens. It is a hole in the wall, and nothing more. Then I look again and think this is only a reminder of the crumbling history we once knew. Crumbling history before our eyes, as this place becomes something else.

Forest Spirit

https://www.deviantart.com/miriteval

A smile from ear to ear,
as the young one ships through
the forest searching for playtime.

Monstrous trees do tower,
and the feeling of them bending
inwards is a very odd feeling.

Odd feelings pass, as her
favourite tree approaches, or
she approaches her favourite tree.

Strange, as always, she asks for
permission before climbing
this familiar one, her safe one.

A flicker of movement out of
the corner of her eye
piques her innocent curiosity.

Feeling as though she now has
permission to climb, she climbs
the tree steadily, full of life.

Sitting in her spot, she looks
down and sees a boy, yet not a
boy; maybe an elf, forest spirit.

Calm, she watches as he walks
away; she calls to him, yet he
never turns towards her, gone.

She comes to visit this spot hoping
to catch a glimpse of him again,
and to see her friend the tree.

She hasn’t seen him for years,
yet her daughter just pointed and
said, “A boy Mumma! A boy!”

The Cat & Jam

Yesterday hearts weigh heavy
on the years lived in the past.

Time does not wait for hearts to be ready;
Hearts must be ready waiting for time.

Couch surfing alone. The house is cooking.
The night is cold, clear, calm, crystallising.

A meow from the laundry tells her the cat
wants food or else she will be the next meal.

Crashing and banging in the laundry as bowls,
teaspoons, detergent, all of it gets a workout.

The cat sits starring at the strange figure,
wondering why food is so difficult to provide.

Friends again after the feeding, yet she feels
peckish, for insomnia and jam are no strangers.

She sits on the fence for a while deciding,
until the desire for sweet outweighs reason.

City Dark

I dreamed of us walking through the Melbourne streets.
The city was dark. All the people walked around with candles of different shapes and sizes.
We shared a candle and watched the way all the candlelight shapes moved on the building walls.
You and I never felt so free in the ambience of no electricity, yet the city never looked so beautiful.
There was no coffee to drink, no sweets to eat, no food to feast, so we stood for a while looking at the Yarra River.
Thousands of people with candles moved along the river, over the bridges, and into the night.
We used our dying phone charge to take photos of this beautiful night.
When we awoke, the photos on our phones were all blank. You couldn’t erase the, “I love you” that escaped your lips.