Thursday, 10 February 2011


I found this picture on a free clip art site whilst scouring the web for images that would compliment a series of poems and prose that I was getting together. Breathe. As it turned out, it didn't fit with anything I had already written. But I like this picture. I like the way it makes me feel. It's exciting. Breathe. My eyes are drawn endlessly from her outstretched finger tips to her carefully staged feet. They slide across her legs, flicking almost guiltily to her nipples as they almost graze the surface of the water. And then there's the water. It confuses my eye. Is she underwater or isn't she?  The more I look, the more I twist my head to work it out, the more inside out it becomes. It looks like the outside is on the inside. I'm looking across the surface in the middle of the frame, yet around the edges of my vision darkness bleeds into underwater, and back to her underwater body. Breathe. The fabric of her dress clings to her skin but her hair is perfect, not even the slightest tendril adrift. Does she even have a face? I believe she does but I can't picture it. It makes me feels ever so slightly anxious when I try. Maybe if she can just relax she will sink into the perfectly clear water and her face will exist. Maybe. Her body is so tense. Is she afraid? Or is she waiting for something? Is she taking her last breath? Breathe. Are her hands holding onto something I can't see? What else is down there with her? So many questions to answer.

And she would answer them,
If she could only breathe.
If she could only move.
If she could only be. 
If she could only find her way back
To the place where what seemed to be, was.
Always was.
But not here, not for her.
Drowning in a never ending moment.
An ocean away from life.
A heartbeat away from death.
All she can do is breathe.

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