“Sunset like the grasshopper flying.”
– Ezra Pound, ‘Canto XVII’
- 1 sentence = washing the dishes from lunch
- 1 opening sentence = up to 1 week of train rides, lurching in your seat
- 1 novel = 1 childhood, or seems like
- 1 novel = 438 days
- Diagrams in pencil, bullets, scribblings, asterisks, notes that made sense last night, at least = a plan
- Time to write = 7 forfeited conversations
- 1 swim, morning, in the ocean = 1 cormorant diving for fish the size of thumbs, because that was something else entirely
- 1 novel, read = the weight, and lingering aroma, of 24 mangoes
- 1 head against the wall = same
- Tight-lipped, brow set, deciding to carry the burden yourself = a dented oven, a broken photo frame, dirty secrets that are no longer secrets, a burden that deflates when poked
- 1 slow death = years of panic, a year and counting
- 4 and a half quinces = still life
- Six elephants, taught to dance, circus-stuck = 1 train carriage
- The precise word = a moment, in a moment
- 1 heart = 1 half-moon
- 1 half-moon = 1 floating stone
- 1 kiss goodnight = a rearrangement
- Waves breaking on the rocks under searing blue sky = 1 open palm to be read, the clicking of plastic beads, voodoo man
- 1 honey ant, 4 blueberries, 1 ripe, 3 un-, 1 green chilli = 1 visit from a magpie, holding your gaze with its eye sunflower yellow
- 1 snapped rib = the world in a daze, 1 year and counting of panic
- 1 website = 7 days, 4 nights, more in pay than I’ll ever make doing any of this
- 1 novel, read = 3/5 of a video game, and while I don’t think one cannot co-exist with the other, I’m sure you see my point
- Concrete towers = 2 scarred lungs, silicosis, a slow suffocation into advanced age
- Time ≠ money, or shouldn’t, or maybe it does, I don’t know, I’m bad at these things
- 1 failed marble statue in anachronistic style = a sledgehammer, dusted hands, heavy breathing
- The great wall of china = 1 Franz Kafka
- Waiting for 1 call or 1 text or just something, just, anything will do = marble that was carved from the Italian alps, bleached like snow, now in pieces that are jagged and useless
- 1 novel = bonfire fuel
- 2 dead birds, cord tying their feet = 1 overgrown temple, where the gods used to gather
- A familiar face = 1 single gull that circles over the cobalt sea, in the searing sky
- 8 forgotten, overripe pears = bats that hang from branches in the daylight like ripe fruit
- The death of a loved one = but the death of which loved one?
The which is important here. Also the how and the how long, but mainly the which. Or am I being insensitive? - Finger-snapping worries in the night = 1 calico bag of apricots, furry to the touch, seeds and all
- The loss of tradition, of ritual = the lost, for good
- The call to prayer before sunrise, the dust of a new town on your shoulders = 1 firm eggplant, 1 handful of tomatoes, 1 hazy-eyed fish still smelling like sea breeze (it is gutted and scaled for you), olive oil to cook them in
- 1 sentence = 1 balanced stack of drying dishes; a Sunday
- 1 half-built coffee table, sawdust caught in the hair of your arm = a crisis, like a museum of fakes
- Another restless night = phantoms, the lot of us
- 1’s too many = 10’s not enough
That same night we drank and drank and walked home by the motorway after your mate said salacious things to a dead phone while his wife snored in the bedroom, his apartment balcony overlooking the sparkling lights of suburbia, and gardenias, and a night that will not end - 1 entire childhood, or seems like = the chug of printing presses in our ears
- The broken, the poor = the sound of voices behind tight-lips
- Five geese, three of them young, all alive = a prolonged misunderstanding
- 1 short story or short piece or, anyway, something brief = an agitation, days of it, of an unsettling
- 1 slice of 1 razor = a hurry; or, 2 supermarket-cold chickens, naked and headless
- 6 wild strawberries = confessions to a former lover
- 1 Odysseus bound to a mast = 1 body washed clean
Tristan Foster is a writer from Sydney, Australia. His writing has appeared in SAND, Words Without Borders, The Scofield, Music & Literature and elsewhere. He is an editor at 3:AM Magazine.