Of persimmons and pomegranates

The first of three installments....

The persimmon is a perennial plant, meaning it dies back in autumn and winter and returns in the spring. Despite this the plant itself still looks to me like a barren twig, the fruit overcompensating with jelly like lushness when ripe. That is what I felt like in the last relationship, sweet and glutinous and he a dry unforgiving branch, dead to the eye. Yet I lived off him for a while, drawing what nutrition I could.

I felt abundant but the longer I sat on the twig the less I felt like treacle. I was shrivelling up.

I had seen a beautiful pool cue made out of the wood of a persimmon tree. It was an amazement to me that something so beautiful could be made out of this parched twig. I struck the cue ball with force sending it spinning at the red triangle of balls, crashing into them, creating chaos. Why could he not crash into me, send me spinning and reeling, waiting for the next blissful collision.

So I decided I must free myself, drop from the tree and see what might become of it.

For a time on my own I enjoyed the freedom. They tell us that to be disconnected and solitary are conditions that one must endure, but I revelled in my time. I experienced the touch of many men and in this way began to feel alive again, as if I could sprout my own orchard. I was warned that if continued I would be branded a harlot and no one wants to marry that. Rotten fruit fallen from the tree lying on the grass helpless and decaying.

Then I met the next one.

The things I miss about you

The things I miss about you cannot always be seen.

There is a smell that takes me back 20 years to when you used that cheap deodorant, and I was sitting in your university dorm room unable to escape it. Stinging my eyes, wishing you would not put that much on.

Practising the waltz, with your hand on the small of my back, your palm pressing me to comply. 

A gentle smile, sneaking a look in my direction, embarrassed you had been caught. No one is supposed to desire the quiet tomboy.

You were so proud of that car, the way you pressed a button and it lowered to the ground on parking. You showed it off to me, you thought I should know how fabulous and european it was. My approval was important.

I miss the way you danced, that zombie like rocking truely oblivious to how much space on the dancefloor you commanded.

You would stare at the waves in a trance, and I knew you were designing something in the way the water moved, black ripples shifting with the tide.

I miss the way you touched my neck, just your fingertips as if I was an egg shell.

I miss you all in some small way from time to time, when life's memories interject the present day.
The men who have shaped my life.

21D- Street

Issue 2 of 21D is available.

The theme is 'Street' and there is- as you would expect- many different takes on the word both photographic and literary. I would recommend getting your paws on a copy for $16.50 via the website www.twendyoned.com.au.

My piece features on page 30, 'Walking the Serengeti'.

This is a very slick production! Well done to Scott, Bianca and Chris.