Category Archives: Prosetry

Accretions

 

I don’t know, I say.

We waited so long in the café. The waitress had her apron on inside-out. You took pristine paper napkins and folded them into your pocket. The croissant wasn’t warm, your toast came without jam. We had the conversation with our eyes and fell a little in love with her, our inside-out waitress. A tip for all the tenderness she aroused and the white napkins fluttering to the floor as you stand to dig out your change.

I smooth and fold them like pages, like sheets, like all the days and tuck them back into your pocket.

I don’t know how not to do this, I say.

Do you see me? I don’t say.

 

‘Accretion’ has a number of meanings. In biology it refers to a growing together of parts that are usually separate. It is used differently and more poetically in this article by Christopher Andreae: ‘ … the accretions of paint that had buried the door’s details like snow over a garden.’

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Question

And on our irrelevant wedding day you weeded the path and a hedgehog came by. I watched through the window as you crouched there, wed and unwed, still as a photograph, the trowel forgotten in your hand, hair newly cut, a suit and tie behind the door. And someone said, why is he gardening now? I watched you, was as still as you, could hear you.

Later that morning we married, but not before my mad aunt had got lost in a car park and I had decided that I didn’t like my dress after all.

And the path neat as a pin, making me weep and making me weep.

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Filed under Prose poems, Prosetry