By | 13 May 2024

What a treat it was to come home again ! each weekend
freed from need to entreaty egress, ingress, the scarification
of waiting at the gate every night for love or its proximate
arrival: no, weekends were abandonment’s ceasefire, after
five days of school and unconditional grandpama coddling
the sanctioned right of return to that own small room, to the
sistermaking whimpers, to ‘70s pubes on well-wound
VHS in the hidden drawer behind the magic wand, to long
hours alone with matches and flammable newsprint. Eating
watermelon in pearls and heels and clipped-on studs, just to
understand the heft of another body’s mystery, just to try
to see how this meant being treated differently, how
to get the red stains out before rush hour ended. Reagan
rebuking the Evil Empire (Vader’s in Russia?), white Lotus
Esprit floating by in the flood (Bond’s in Toa Payoh?),
a thirteen-floor drop for fruit peel and poor grade report
(talks too much in class!) to long suffering grass, the child
being farther to regret. Not refuge exactly but retreat, an
undergrounding of overkeen senses, hallucinating safety.
Testing then, as now, howhat it is to be the one to decide
when to answer the call. What to admit or withdraw.

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