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Contents Category: Poem
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Article Title: Invisible Hinges
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If between one footfall and the next, the wind
can swivel and issue empty threats of rain,
for all we know this could be one of those days,
unpinpointable even in retrospect,
when a dimly held belief begins to melt,
say the belief that it’s somehow generous
to assume that everyone’s rather like you.
An open-ended day promising nothing,
but just as full of zipjams, language splashes
and thixotropic flows, lost somewhere between
the day you realised you wouldn’t always
have to pretend to be interested in X
(opera, hot cars, Buffy Summers, poetry)

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and the day when you will blush for the last time.
Although it has no sort of narrative arc
except the fall of promise into fatigue,
a lost day like this could begin to dissolve
the belief that since our time is tight I’m free
to be proud of knowing nothing about Y.
A dithering day I step out of into
a scent of gently exploding roses – gone.

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