street’s memoir

silent observer,are you tired yet?let me help youtell your story. here, you saw the couple:young.in love. arguing andmaking up. there, a girl trailed throughthe rain - let the bussplash waterat her feet. and here you sawthousands of peoplegoing about life. speak, please - sorry, i forgot.you're silent. leave me myguessing game: i shall make up …

unwinding

she unwinds from the daythe moment she walksin the door. shoes are kicked off andlain on the rack;keys, deposited in a bowl by thedoor and bags droppedunder the table. the stiff blazer is droppedover the back of a chairas she walks in sock-feet tothe lounge. swaps suits for worn-outcottonand tugs a blanket off theback of …

wanderlost

she flicks the mapthat takes up one-third ofwall space.on her desk, there's aspinning globe: sometimesshe taps it to set it rotating. unfocuses her eyes and lets the worldblur past. she makes a list,writing alphabetically,reverse-alphabeticallyand flips it around again. scrambles the order, calls uponline travel literature. in the evening shecrams in language, makesflashcards of grammar. she'll go …

the cave

a cave formsin the forest.sometimes, in her modest moodsshe calls it a backyardbut miles offlora isn't a yard. she takes a backpack andlaces up hiking shoes.if she walks too fastthey clip at her anklebone.sometimes, the bruiseslast for days. if the weather permitsshe reaches the cave,half-formed though it is.when she first came hereit didn't existand she …

after midnight

at 2 a.m., there's totalstillness.the curtains are drawn,heavy and thick, blocking outall light. in the quiet of the cottagethere's no stimuli.no traffic, no sirens rushing bysetting the night alight withcoloured noise. outside a cicada chirpsthen falls silent. there's nothing. in the bleak dark of nightthere's nothing to see,no need for pretension.no need to do anything.

the lamb

she draws up herbattle plan,pulls on cloak and hood. she writes,cataloguing a long listof disapprovers. they allhave one thing in common:when pressed, they findsomething to changeabout her. she makes her list,checks it over.no need to add spelling and grammar,syntax,to her list of repairable traits. she inlays a ruleof thirty-three. this, she once readis how long it …

ongoing

there's forty-one emailsunread in my inbox.on my phone, five new voicemailsgo unheard, unanswered.the number stays undialled. three tweets - a quiet yell with the@and two instagram likes.it's all going on the tally. there's real perseverance,i will concede that.this is a waiting gamefor a reason though. what that reason is,i still don't quiteknow. so far, i'm patient. calm.so …

conquer

the world narrows downto a mess of straightlines.everything is neat in itsplace. every box is neatlylabelled,tucked away for future reference. in place of a whirlwind,there's a series oflinear progressions.they tell some story,somehow.viewers are never surewhat the story is,but they know it'sthere. and underneath it all,there's someonewatching theprogressions. a whirlwind becomesspatial awareness becomesneat organized lines,and it is conquered.

settling in

the house is quiet,built after several bitter monthsof designing and planning.every feature is carefullycurated, placed to be clever. sometimes, in the evenings,it settles.floorboards creak undera phantom's step;wind whistles through windows thatneed sealing up. winteris on its way,after all. at night, she settles in withbooks and tea,a teapot perched nine preciseinches away. later still,when it's midnight, …