Well, this is just thinking aloud, literally following a thought of sensuous stretching and how good that feels and following it out of the door. As the month of October comes to an end, I’m grateful for the introduction to writing by hand. InkTober for me has been an exercise in slow phrase making. Having a word ‘on the boil’ each day produces very different types of responses depending on how the word speaks to me (or doesn’t) and the spontaneous something that comes from that background preoccupation.
Stretch, stretch, beautiful stretch
don’t desert me beautiful stretch —
with you on my side, I can reach
the high shelf, take tinned peaches
and rice pudding and fetch in the stool
and bowl, sit at the plain table and spoon
delicious sweetness in, stretching
over the bowl to his last drawing
I lay my hand across the cheek,
his pencil line, flatter under my palm,
close my eyes and miss the physique
of that impressive jaw. I have charm
sure, and at a stretch, an open face
that narrows like a compass
pointing to where his thumb
nuzzled at my chin, saying, where I’m from
we say, I see my path not where it leads.
another kind of happiness 