Sustainable Living
Ruby SILK
At what time should I get up?
At what time
[muted chatter — at best atmospheric the sound of a coffee cup finding its place on a saucer]
should I get up and what
should I put my shoes on?
Should I put my shoes on
my hands peel apart beneath the dryer, watch
sinews and stringbones exposing themselves
skin splaying like the red sea, see: cells
she sells seashells on the sea-floor/ she sells shecells
it is ones duty to dust oneself from shelves I must I must improve my bust I must I must improve my bust [tiny whisper: exfoliate] Yes! I will be late!
I will be late if I don’t scrub up nicely.
What if one day my alarm sounds
and in the wash of secondshoursdays it takes to come round
a fly
lands on my leg or clavicle (he!he!) and I watch it so black
an animated
full stop
stop
to rub its little paws together, comb back its three headhairs
and then I forget altogether to be hungry
[gaping yawn]
Who is hungry enough?
How is enough hungry to recipe
and should I cook the recipe, then what should I cook, the
recipe and how to cook the recipe every day threetimesorfour in healthy
magazines that slip off the table they are so thick with protein
[pulls limply dog-eared recipe from topcoatpocket
fishily oil spotted, unfolds with some difficulty owing to
PUTTANESCA
–I should have known it started in garlic and onion
–6 anchovy fillets –1 tablespoon of capers
–1 can of chopped tomatoes –mother could never cook
–basil which is green and the leaves curl into themselves quietly –long spaghettis go on forever
–don’t make me say it again
she folds sadly up her only recipe and
tucks it into topcoatpocket]
If one day my alarm sounds and I am dead.
In this heat it is better not to stir.
At what time
[muted chatter — at best atmospheric the sound of a coffee cup finding its place on a saucer]
should I get up and what
should I put my shoes on?
Should I put my shoes on
my hands peel apart beneath the dryer, watch
sinews and stringbones exposing themselves
skin splaying like the red sea, see: cells
she sells seashells on the sea-floor/ she sells shecells
it is ones duty to dust oneself from shelves I must I must improve my bust I must I must improve my bust [tiny whisper: exfoliate] Yes! I will be late!
I will be late if I don’t scrub up nicely.
What if one day my alarm sounds
and in the wash of secondshoursdays it takes to come round
a fly
lands on my leg or clavicle (he!he!) and I watch it so black
an animated
full stop
stop
to rub its little paws together, comb back its three headhairs
and then I forget altogether to be hungry
[gaping yawn]
Who is hungry enough?
How is enough hungry to recipe
and should I cook the recipe, then what should I cook, the
recipe and how to cook the recipe every day threetimesorfour in healthy
magazines that slip off the table they are so thick with protein
[pulls limply dog-eared recipe from topcoatpocket
fishily oil spotted, unfolds with some difficulty owing to
PUTTANESCA
–I should have known it started in garlic and onion
–6 anchovy fillets –1 tablespoon of capers
–1 can of chopped tomatoes –mother could never cook
–basil which is green and the leaves curl into themselves quietly –long spaghettis go on forever
–don’t make me say it again
she folds sadly up her only recipe and
tucks it into topcoatpocket]
If one day my alarm sounds and I am dead.
In this heat it is better not to stir.
Ruby SILK is a writer from Brighton, currently living in Belgium and working for an NGO that focuses on homelessness. Her poems have been published in Ambit and Pain.