My father takes a spoonful of sugar and does the knee-body rock in fast rhythm.
A paper covering will shield a body temporarily.
He whistles and his long piano fingers curve and stretch.
A hollow needle guides a thread to veins equal in brightness.

He takes us to Marble Hill beach and peels 5 consecutive bananas.
A rectangular box will capture images in an atmosphere with no clouds.
He knows all dates and times. Dye has existed for 5000 years.
Dye is selectively injected into the mouth of a heart.

He practises 'I love you' behind the gable walls. A robin sits on snow.
One must be still to avoid blurring pictures. A feeling of warmth lasts a minute.
He cannot contain his voice. It changes from solid to vapour.
A small sandbag is clamped over an incision.

He once bought me green dungarees as we walked through a war zone.
A puncture site can heal enough not to bleed.
He grows organic potatoes and stays on his knees to gather them.
A hand compresses then releases an inorganic pigment. A purple heart has a reddish hue.

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Liz is Irish and lives in the Canary Islands, Spain. She has work published or forthcoming in Mannequin Envy, The Pedestal Magazine, Centrifugal Eye, Wicked Alice, FRiIGG, Loch Raven Review, Mad Hatter’s Review, The Hiss Quarterly, Word Riot and Noö. She placed first in IBPC in December 2006.
E-mail: elizavalido at yahoo dot es
Blog: http://agcaint.blogspot.com/
 

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kaleidowhirl  |  spring 2007