A Few Vignettes
These were mostly born in
’s Ink & Flame…Ink In the Blood
‘Ink in the blood, that’s me.’ She flicked her auburn hair over her shoulder. ‘It’s a compulsion, the writing, I’ve books and books in me.’
I saw a flicker, a pinprick of doubt shone in her eyes.
‘There’s always the job of tattoo artist.’
Fire in the Ocean
Fire in the ocean, a burning in the pit
of my stomach. Then, a wave. Then a campfire
with no singing. Doves fly over rainbows, songs
fall from trees, and I stare into him. I’ll be here
forever, settling, as plenty is enough.
Ink in the Heart
Ink in the heart travels through cold
veins, warming, splatters on to the page
like a crime scene.
They came to take DNA, but there is no
mystery here, nothing to be solved,
read, glazed or sighed over, turn the
page, start again.
Fire in the Night
Fire in the night awakens angels and they come with buckets and shrill song, fanning or extinguishing I cannot tell. Agnes stands at the window. This is her doing, but they’ll never find out, she’s covered her tracks, she’s in stockinged feet and silent. Her breath clouds the window, she lifts the sash and inhales the sulphur sweetness. Lifting her chin, she howls low at the moon, while otters bathe in the stream below.
She pulls the quill from its stand, scratches the tip across her wrist. Glossy black ink weeps from the wound. She scrawls into the smoky air. It is indecipherable.
How she arrived at this place is hard to remember, so much has changed. Tears fall, mixed with the ink in her veins, it is now time to write a new narrative.