A day

My night is deep water, festivals going wrong, not getting to people when I need to, disasters, colours. Sometimes the disaster happens to me; I am running and screaming through an apocalypse of falling steel and concrete. Or I meet my loved ones, again and again, in different forms, until I realise there are no other ways I can see them. I’ve saturated my own dreams. I’ve met my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather, my mother in-law, my boyfriend and my uncle. They’re all gone.

So I get up and raise the blind. It’s grey. It’s blue. Its whatever it is. It’s day.

I clean the kitchen and the bathroom and I water the plants. I think I should do something. I don’t know what I should do. So I clean more things. Sort more things.

I talk to children like it’s all ok and they’ll be ok. They are fine.

I do my job. Then I drink wine and watch the TV. Until I hate the TV and I want to sleep. Then my night is deep water, festivals going wrong, disaster.