Finding quiet, gone fishing/back in ten/out to lunch, & in transit by Anna Bilbrough
Finding quiet
Hair on end
It reaches, attempting to break itself
Constriction
Of the throat
Around the torso
A clenched jaw
A face gathered, afraid it will open up
Movement
Of the ankles
Around the room
Cheeks between teeth
Soft skin torn with wet, swollen scars
Pressure Of the skull
Circling choices
gone fishing/back in ten/out to lunch
When the housemate’s not home
I am naked
Bare skin
I sing
When the housemate’s not home
I am naked
Against Ma’s wishes
Curtains in whispers
When the housemate’s not home
I am naked
Grossly no lady
Haven’t been proud lately
When the housemate’s not home
I am naked
Top-turned lock
Scan the landing, take stock
When the housemate’s not home
I am naked
alone
in transit
She breathed shallow. At the top of her lungs, a deflating balloon. Knees pressed together, ankles crossed, fingers interlaced in her lap. Ebbing with the movement of the carriage through dark tunnels. She wanted to wrench open a window, thrust her head out into the rushing wind, one knee balancing for height on the shoulder of the man beside her.
Air whistled through the man’s nose. At each jolt of the train, his briefcase would knock once against his right shin, then once against his left. His feet were sweating, his ankles constricted – he’d picked up a pair of his wife’s socks that morning. He thought of sliding his shoes off, discreetly shimmying his feet from the vice grip of the socks. But he’d locked eyes with the elderly woman sitting beside him as he boarded the train, felt the sting of her stare.
The woman’s eyes watered behind her glasses. Something about the city air, the smog, the fumes, the breath of all those people. Eyelids too heavy to be held open, she stared at the swinging feet of the young boy sitting across from her. He stomped to the ground, his shoes erupting like flares. She closed her eyes against the cascade of lights, remnants and embers of green and red floating before her. The carriage halted. Her shoulder nudged the person beside her.
A heat washed over him. He could never grow used to the close and constant contact. Maybe it was the collar, the tie around his neck, the heavy watch on his left wrist that made his body temperature soar. He thought about tomorrow, about stopping at the coffee shop for a danish and latte before boarding the late train.
Find Anna talking books every fortnight on her podcast 'Written in the Margins' on Sound Cloud and like them on Facebook. Anna is also a musician and you can check out her work here.
Executive Producers
Sue White
Sarah Hunt
Daniel Henson
