katewilde

there is a mad rush of boats in the channel.

coming back to harbour.

safe harbour.

storm’s not far, now.

and i am shattered.

desperately so.

it just about killed me.

feeling my heart again like that after all that time.

i left fragments of me in that park. that night.

after that velvet kiss that changed the world.

yes. i remember those wet kisses all those years ago…..

and i want to write love letters.

(exquisitely sensual words on sheets of thin pink paper that smell deeply of sandalwood..)

but i edit myself too much. don’t you find? i do. i edit. i’m editing right now. delete, think, look up.

(i can feel you.)

shouldn’t love just flow? shouldn’t the words of love just flow?

(i can taste you.)

love. it is the purpose of life.

it is now.

it is everything.

and what i really want is to write love letters to you.

(oh god.)

but i can’t even think about that. thoughts are loud. so, i even edit my thoughts of love.

well, my thoughts of love for you.

fine. here’s what i have. all i have.

(all that i have.)

here is my love letter. to you.

“you make me want to stop editing myself.”

amazing how one little 5 year old can rock your world and then destroy it…

3 hours sleep. headache. too much thinking. can’t wind down. and i’m trying to keep her warm and covered through the night. really, most of what i do is for her. get up. get her clothes, get her breakfast, make her lunch (i made her pesto last night because that’s what she asked for), get her winter gear on, make sure she brushes her teeth, even slip an extra treat into her knapsack…and then!!!!!! i ask her to wash her hands after she pees and you’d think i killed her cat or something. all hell breaks loose, she comes over and stomps – HARD – on my foot, almost broke it, i’m sure, tells me she hates me and that she knows i hate her too. WHAT??! why on earth would she think i hate her? turns out i don’t buy her stuff like her friend’s dad buys her friend. well, kiddo, her dad doesn’t live at home!!!! and what else? oh, i don’t DO enough with her. and apparently we don’t spend enough time together….

i’m telling you.

my crazy child may not have broken my foot today, but she certainly did put a ding in my heart.
....

stay sane. stay sane. stay sane.
....

saturday night
by kate wilde

saturday night pot party out in the beaches.

the air hangs heavy with smoke. blue smoke. smoke from B.C. . jamaican
smoke.

swirling slow. like snakes in the sky. clouds. rings. warm and wet. it’s hard to breathe, but it’s strangely comforting. close. embracing. dizzying. one bottle of wine. or is it two. i lose count.

time?

maybe two. maybe four. my hair has fallen and my lipstick has faded, but the wine has left its kiss on my bottom lip.

i’m dancing in the corner. i’m not alone, but i pretend to be. it’s black. hey black. i
know that song. what a great album. we sing. we close our eyes. and we move. remember when we danced to duran duran?, i ask. there is a spontaneous shout of
please please tell me now, but it quickly dies out. yes, the hour for duran duran has long since past.

my mind is now onto darker things and i want to hear some tom waits. that scratchy voice. those sable tones.

and fuck i want to smoke.

anyone have a….someone offers me a scotch instead. i’ve always wanted to be a scotch drinker. gimme a scotch. i’ll have a scotch. but I can’t.

i want to, but i can’t.

just like life.

i need some air.

outside the boy by the rosebush asks me if i’m a pearl jam fan.

i see flashes of you, laughing all gravelly and cool, and i think of this question
and start to laugh too. he doesn’t understand. yes, I say. i adore them now. but, man i don’t want to get into it so i say, but i was always more of a soundgarden girl. soundgarden?, he says. he nods and flicks away his cigarette, the smoke curling around his mischievous grin. i love soundgarden. i look up at him. i don’t believe him. he’s not that kind of boy.

but he turns and snatches the last rose from it’s wintery future and before i know it, he puts it in my hair. has anyone ever put a rose in my hair? and he grabs me and we’re dancing close and he’s singing right in my ear and he’s singing black hole sun, won’t you come and he iS that kind of boy and i was wrong.

someone shouts from the kitchen she’s married but he knows. it was just a dance.

and we go back inside and i still want a scotch and the only tom waits i can
find is a duet with natalie merchant, but i put it on anyway cuz it’s tom waits enough.

Well I hope that I don’t fall in love with you
’cause falling in love just makes me blue,
Well the music plays and you display
Your heart for me to see,
I had a beer and now I hear you
Calling out for me
And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you.

ah yes, tom waits.

Well the night does funny things inside a man
These old tom-cat feelings you don’t understand,
Well I turn around to look at you,
You light a cigarette…..

and the record plays on and someone brings out some strawberries then suddenly it’s five in the morning and most of what is still inflamed is extinguished.

we are spent.

the world goes quiet.

everything stops.

and five in the morning seems a perfect time for me to leave my saturday
night pot party out in the beaches.
…