DISTORTION BY M.M.WAKE
If I look hard enough through this small pane of glass I can see into next doors yard. I have to strain my neck a little and tilt my head but there it is. The glass is patterned, obscure.Tiny flecks, specks, frosted images engraved within the hard surface, like tiny creatures trapped in resin for all time.
There is clear glass too, four diamond shaped inserts bevelled at the edges giving an interesting arrangement of the outside world.
For instance, there are two bicycles propped up against my back wall. In theory we could go out cycling you and I on one of those long summer nights , along the flat, down by the river. We might even stop at a pub like other couples. Have a drink, have a chat, smile as we watch the evening sun, crimson in the heavens.
Of course I know its only the glass making the duplication, a trick of the eye. My bike leans alone. But it's an interesting concept.
If I turn my head the other way I can see a prism of terraced houses opposite. Well three actually. A triplicate of houses, not prisms. Like an Apis mellifera, (that's European honey bee to the less educated), I survey my surroundings, or a black widow watching, hanging, waiting.
I could tell you a few tales about what I have seen through this window as small as it may seem.
My next door neighbours for instance. They have had a few troubles. I have seen him walking out on her a few times. I've also seen what happens when she's been away, visiting her sick mother. Early morning I've been here, just having a look, taking notice, well I have always been an early riser you see. I've seen that woman leaving in the early hours. They think no-one notices, creeping out into the half light. But I've seen her, emerging past my door, all impressionist, cracked and splattered, bleary eyed and bed tussled hair. Legs up to her whatever.
Interfered with, that’s what the glass does to her.
Jean on the other hand is dark and small. Friendly smile though but too trusting, a bit wet you might say. Recently the couple started attending marriage guidance counselling, I'd see them set off after tea, hand in hand. Well, she holding onto his hand anyway, not wanting to let go. His two heads darting about like a chicken, that wolfsheepish form smeared and blurred, until it passes into the clear and out of sight.
He left her two days ago.
A stunning blonde girl has just gone jogging by. Her 6ft leggy frame gliding past in glorious Technicolor. She lives with the handsome bloke at number 10. The beautiful people I call them. Not even this window can obscure their loveliness. Not that I’m jealous, but when I see them I have to turn away and I'm the one who is dismembered, unwholesome, stricken behind the glass, ugliness and deformity screaming at me.
I have a tired face, I know that. My hair is too long and hangs heavy around my face, dragging my features down. That's what I see reflecting back.
Albert on the other side is 86 next birthday. I keep an eye on him. I see the young nurses and home help pop in to see him. He's not been well. I see him shuffle to the end of the gate in his slippers, his tatty stained trousers hiding his skeletal frame. He gives off no reflection, his shape bends freakishly across my window. I can sense the decay as he slithers past. I don't think he's got long.
I don't always stand here, looking out into the world from my small vantage spot. My life is rich and full and I have much better things to do with my time. I'm not some sad or lonely, of course not, what a ridiculous notion.
But you know, If I press my face hard enough against the glass and wait patiently, stare very hard past the window, then through all this fog and blur, through this distortion, I might just see you walking home again.
Copyright M.M.Wake 2011
http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/22507/distortion to download free to kindle /iPhone etc
There is clear glass too, four diamond shaped inserts bevelled at the edges giving an interesting arrangement of the outside world.
For instance, there are two bicycles propped up against my back wall. In theory we could go out cycling you and I on one of those long summer nights , along the flat, down by the river. We might even stop at a pub like other couples. Have a drink, have a chat, smile as we watch the evening sun, crimson in the heavens.
Of course I know its only the glass making the duplication, a trick of the eye. My bike leans alone. But it's an interesting concept.
If I turn my head the other way I can see a prism of terraced houses opposite. Well three actually. A triplicate of houses, not prisms. Like an Apis mellifera, (that's European honey bee to the less educated), I survey my surroundings, or a black widow watching, hanging, waiting.
I could tell you a few tales about what I have seen through this window as small as it may seem.
My next door neighbours for instance. They have had a few troubles. I have seen him walking out on her a few times. I've also seen what happens when she's been away, visiting her sick mother. Early morning I've been here, just having a look, taking notice, well I have always been an early riser you see. I've seen that woman leaving in the early hours. They think no-one notices, creeping out into the half light. But I've seen her, emerging past my door, all impressionist, cracked and splattered, bleary eyed and bed tussled hair. Legs up to her whatever.
Interfered with, that’s what the glass does to her.
Jean on the other hand is dark and small. Friendly smile though but too trusting, a bit wet you might say. Recently the couple started attending marriage guidance counselling, I'd see them set off after tea, hand in hand. Well, she holding onto his hand anyway, not wanting to let go. His two heads darting about like a chicken, that wolfsheepish form smeared and blurred, until it passes into the clear and out of sight.
He left her two days ago.
A stunning blonde girl has just gone jogging by. Her 6ft leggy frame gliding past in glorious Technicolor. She lives with the handsome bloke at number 10. The beautiful people I call them. Not even this window can obscure their loveliness. Not that I’m jealous, but when I see them I have to turn away and I'm the one who is dismembered, unwholesome, stricken behind the glass, ugliness and deformity screaming at me.
I have a tired face, I know that. My hair is too long and hangs heavy around my face, dragging my features down. That's what I see reflecting back.
Albert on the other side is 86 next birthday. I keep an eye on him. I see the young nurses and home help pop in to see him. He's not been well. I see him shuffle to the end of the gate in his slippers, his tatty stained trousers hiding his skeletal frame. He gives off no reflection, his shape bends freakishly across my window. I can sense the decay as he slithers past. I don't think he's got long.
I don't always stand here, looking out into the world from my small vantage spot. My life is rich and full and I have much better things to do with my time. I'm not some sad or lonely, of course not, what a ridiculous notion.
But you know, If I press my face hard enough against the glass and wait patiently, stare very hard past the window, then through all this fog and blur, through this distortion, I might just see you walking home again.
Copyright M.M.Wake 2011
http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/22507/distortion to download free to kindle /iPhone etc