winter dreams of birthday parties

this could be mother’s room from childhood
barricaded windows, back to the cabinets
furniture of ancestors, bleak and timeless
black and white television, the only glow
 
I’m watching the film in the dark
I’m in the dark film, walking
a difficult terrain, going home past ice plains
I train the weak camera lens onto the mountain
researchers tunnelling through ice
i see the lights from their hardhats
their progress, slow and fatiguing
 
time changes the room
the room becomes another time
a bar in paris, 1930’s
furniture of ancestors, bleak and jaded
 
war widows drink pale milk
frothing with intoxicants
their coats hang on bodies familiar with death
their make up, thick with suffering
 
they wait for young boys to offer tricks and sex
they watch the mother descend a staircase
I am leaving
she reveals to me the sex I will miss
I am leaving for the ice plains
 
one returns to the beige mansion
one returns to the birthday party
a pile of presents under the table
like miniature skylines in glitter wraps
 
the house changes size according to wandering
one is on the third floor or second or fourth
one finds the bathroom at the end of stairs
one hears then sees the shower running
is it an exposed woman, soap on flesh, a steaming body?
one finds trouble towel wrapping one’s body
there’s a knife on the floor, handle attached to string
the man believed to be father says, “keep the knife, you all always tell me to use my eyes.”
one knows what he means.
He is always blamed for murders and daydreaming
He wants you to avoid slicing your foot
more special children arrive
“where do i put the presents?”
there’s a city beneath the table
doorless, windowless, lifetimes trapped in cubes and oblongs and panic rooms
one is projected outside the mansion
near roads and gardens and multi-storied carparks
one sees pale women in dark clothes with sky-blue hair
one sees an elongated beauty passing by
the witch-kind are recognised and loved
but the great woman known as mother is not in the house
researchers are trying to reach her, deep in ice mountains
 
#oneiricnovel #dailywriting2016 #dailywriting #irvingpaulpereira
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