In amidst packing the boxes, an old exercise book. In the old exercise book:

Pink light evening comes in the warm glow
of car lights
crisp leaves
tears are ready, just behind the eyes.
Back feels flexible, shoulders want to stretch,
Bump my sides softly,
Swing childish
Scatter mittens…
Feet striding. Heel hits pavement
Force I AM HERE I MATTER I WILL
Mouth…
So soft. I move my tongue around…
Listen to Bjork, taste Icelandic words
and breathe.
Belly is a hive of tiny bees.
Gentle, Industrious…perhaps it is really
A butterfly house
I want to hold it in…
Shaky, wing-like feeling
It is in my throat.
All of me, afraid.
But I am marching on
Anyway.
Foot burns itself
Into a thick bear paw
and looks for a wild place to walk
But here I am
marching it down the road
Sort of happy
Pleased by the light…
Quite desperate to know
How endless the pain can be.

I think it is from this time of year, 2004. It’s got that introspective, crappy art-student poem thing going on but I like the line ‘Swing childish, Scatter mittens.’ That’s exactly how I still feel about mittens.

Interesting also to find the poem and discover so much visceral imagery in the way I write about being in constant pain; ‘Foot burns itself/Into a thick bear paw.’ There is quite a distance between the yellow and red, polka-dot, start-spangly Missability website and the very physical nature of what I’ve written here which feels just way more physical, and angrier.