Thursday, 29 December 2011

in medias res

00:08:00 Posted by Damp incendiary device , , 4 comments
I couldn't manage the entire theme this week. I took the first three letters (res) and reservoir became my theme instead. In medias res. Flung into the middle of something which is broken. I can't show you what was here before or what will be here after - only what exists in this moment: a reservoir.





Reservoir

Shopping mall floor sparkles. Almost an ice rink.
Flashes of forced cheer – remnants of the other world
Creep around the edges of one-way windows:
Holly, snow, mistletoe tokens
But even these small reminders are belittled by the vulgarity of the four letter word
SALE

No aroma survives the sterilisation of the consumer habitat
(so many bodies, so little kissing)
Pheromones extracted for expediency
All lust to be directed towards the inanimate

Unseen in the throng, in the flock, is a wolf
Or maybe she is a bear
No – look closer into her eyes
She is a reservoir, a man-made pool

Remarkable, this semblance of a woman.
See how she moves across the would-be rink;
Weaves among the congregation
Like a mother buying education with false morality
She doesn’t belong.

Winter Wonderland’s echo smothers her burbling
Anyone could touch her, dip into the pool,
But they maintain a state of organised distraction

This is an irrelevance. The abyss is unavoidable.
The reservoir reveals herself on the tiles.
Frozen water like a diamond in her throat.
Fingertips damp and restless at her chest.
Reaching towards that point in her centre which contains the source.
Heretical eyes erode the mask

The reservoir reaches into her heart and dislodges the fragment, loosens the fa├žade.
Trembling, this unhappy cascade holds her form for a moment in the air
Human fountain, filling a jumble of saturated woollens
– empty and bursting – a sodden paradox.
She is slipping. Slipping beneath. Slipping away.
A puddle on the sparkling floor.
She is lost.

Shopping mall floor sparkles. Almost an ice rink.
A yellow sign marks the spot of her descent –
CAUTION: Slippery when wet
Reactions:

4 comments:

Lindsay said...

I braved town yesterday to buy coats cheaply for my boys, it was horrific. In Hounds Hill a woman sat on the floor, stroking the strap of a pair of red shoes, mesmerised by them in a daze of covetousness. Bizarre. As I say to everyone I fecking know, it's only a bargain if you need it. I don't get the whole 'shopping trip' as an activity. Dullety dull with price tags on. And such an empty experience when the shine of obtaining fades. I love the poem, and I hate sales. Great post Vicky, happy new year :)

Ashley R Lister said...

ooh! Thanks for the reminder. I must get down to the sales :-)

Seriously, I thought it was a point well made and a good poem.

Great way to see out the old year.

Ash

vicky ellis said...

It's not about shopping :)

Well, it is. But it isn't.

But that's OK - it would benefit from me performing it while wiping tears and snot across my face. Then it would make sense.

the oracle said...

tears and snot need a tissue - wonder if they sell them in the sales.
just remember that those tears go down the drain, into the sea (why else is sea water just like salty tears), is evaporated into the sky, rains down, is caught in a reservoir, turned into drinking water which then provide liquid for the tears... which proves that life is a circle and with each revolution something is lost but something else replaces it.