I’m six years old and you hand me a loaded rifle.
That’s what this is, isn’t it?
Your talk of love?
Don’t you know how dangerous this is?
I might hurt myself.
I’ll almost certainly hurt you.
What wild impulse had you handing over such power
to this clumsy child?
Why not have me stand on one foot
balancing a Ming vase on my head?
Why not hand me some scissors
and send me pelting down the stairs?
Why not assign me the job
of air traffic controller at Tullamarine Airport?
Why not give me your heart?
Yes. Why not?
11:10pm Sunday
14.November.2004
© Melinda Chambers. All posts are the creation of the author and, as such, remain the author's property with all rights reserved.
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I.
We are
comforted
by the distance
geography imposes,
longitude and latitude
to blame
for walls, barb wire, fortresses and moats.
From a satellite’s perspective
an observer would agree
but looking at things
from behind these eyes
I know
that even if you were inside me
I could still keep you out.
Distance
can be measured in inches
just as easily as in miles
and when a map gives you a scale ~
1 inch=45 miles ~
know that for every inch within me
I will impose
a thousand miles
between us.
II.
You are
saved
by the distance
geography imposes,
poetry and unspoken conversations
to blame
for my doorways, silken ties, dream castles and
emotional oceans.
From a heart’s perspective
an observer would agree
and looking at things
from behind these scars
I know
that if you were inside me
I’d surrender my history.
Distance
can be measured by fears
just as easily as by miles
and when I am the cartographer
each fear equals a million miles,
so for every mile
give an inch
and I will close the distance
between us.
III.
I am
terrified
by the closeness
poetry imposes,
vulnerability and love (?)
to blame
for my tentative touches with
adjectives, verbs and nouns.
From a poet’s point of view
an observer would disagree
but looking at things
from inside this heart
I know
that if I were braver
I’d let you inside me.
Distance
can be measured by the imagination
just as easily as by boundaries
and when I am the dreamer
limits do not apply
So I close my eyes,
dream a while
and use my pen to fold the distance
between us.
7:00am Friday
15.September.2000
© Melinda Chambers. All posts are the creation of the author and, as such, remain the author's property with all rights reserved.
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Inspiration only ever seems to find me
when I’m busy changing the sheets
and knowing I won’t need to be doing that again
any time soon
I find myself caught
between relief
and anxiety,
mired in love
for love’s sake alone.
That’s where it leaves me at times,
alone,
and that’s how I handle it best ~
from a distance,
in hindsight.
I am getting closer
every moment
to the glass wall
that separates
my heart
from reality.
Press your warm hands
to the glass
and I will lay mine
against yours
from the other side.
Don’t push, love
because if we’re both
exerting equal pressure
on this isolating wall,
each from the other side,
all we’re achieving
is the absolute surety
that this wall won’t move
an inch
(of course,
if you were standing beside me
on my side of things
we could move mountains!)
12:39am Sunday
3.September.2000
© Melinda Chambers. All posts are the creation of the author and, as such, remain the author's property with all rights reserved.
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“It doesn’t make sense”
There are no other sounds in my mind
but these.
The last time I saw you,
truly saw you
your face was but an inch from mine,
leaning to spill breath into my mouth
in a tumble of gasps and sighs and moans.
Your eyes were alight
you were so near we were indivisible
and yet
so very far away ~
I wanted to feel your smile
from the inside,
wanted to taste my own breath
in your lungs ~
You were as close as flesh allows,
cohesion and division in one
you were so near
yet still not near enough.
I have not seen you since that moment
when the earth tilted off its axis
and we both felt it
in the same instant
and I can still remember that feeling
of being overwhelmed
and wanting to laugh and cry
both at the same time
and for no reason
but innocence
and beauty,
for no other reason other than the fact that
you are
and I am.
I haven’t truly seen you since then
and I divorced myself
in the moment of your withdrawal.
I couldn’t bear the hollowness,
couldn’t stand the weightlessness
~ I should have been floating
after you lifted your body from mine
the heat and intensity of you taken from me ~
I am weightless now, yes
but meaning
irrelevant
and without
consequence.
One floats in zero gravity, yes
but there is nothing to hold me here now
no one to hold me here
there is no oxygen and I cannot breathe.
“It doesn’t make sense”
~ a world screams its dying
as you let go
The flesh separates
and I send you divorce papers
all cold logic and legality.
Separating myself from you,
in hindsight
and grief, I recall
love holds to no laws
and logic is nowhere near the same
as sanity
or happiness.
5:47am Thursday
12.December.2002
© Melinda Chambers. All posts are the creation of the author and, as such, remain the author's property with all rights reserved.
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aphrodisiac contraceptive. coming without consequence doesn’t keep you from going. fever pitched edged scream right on the borderland of delirium stranded I cannot go back from this stranded I cannot move on sterile my love is sterile you are driftwood at least you can be used a fire shelter I am barren I am masturbation begetting nothing. your mirror? you’re getting off on your reflection in my eyes nothing comes of this but you I am becoming nothing and nothing becomes me. I am solitary rape I am 10pm steel trap lock down lights out. twisting breeze bended knees never kneeling open wound freshly bled never healing. I jumped out of my skin and ran naked through the streets. no one noticed I am point break, breaking point. snap. your deal, ace is high, served at 208 kilometres per hour. I tried to give up today. another thing I don’t know how to do. I get all the basics wrong. sleep – can’t do it. talk…um… um… I don’t know the question to that answer. breathe – little gasping angel fish stranded on dry land. I like the wet. all of it. me you ocean sea rain river flood perspiration exhalation elimination orgasm. I like the wet. all of it. aphrodisiac contraceptive turn me on hold me back the consequences of coming – negligible I am barren, infertile introverted independent beyond reproduction, duplication. all the mothers keep their lovers. in their beds. on a string. with a monthly cheque and another small request. relationships only ever last by accident. I wasn’t one. I was planned. some relationships should die. little heart string never quite severed. here are the scissors, mother. I couldn’t keep a relationship. I’m careful. no accidents. no six pound three ounce blue eyed accidents. aphrodisiac contraceptive. you can come inside. I always abort. or am aborted. same empty feeling at the end of the day. same bed too big, back cold, cold hands and who gives a fuck about the warm heart anyway? warm hands are all that count. keeps you coming back for another touch. keeps you coming. warm hands cheating heart. I have photographs all over my house of myself holding other people’s babies. I have decided to keep it that way. It’s neater this way – a shrine to a sterile dream.
9:24pm Tuesday
17.September.2002
© Melinda Chambers. All posts are the creation of the author and, as such, remain the author's property with all rights reserved.
- Stream II: Legacy
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