We packed up a year and a half into faded Co-op bags, which we then exchanged in silence. They were filled primarily with folded underwear that seemed familiar but somehow lost.
The self same underwear that had sat side by side and, on occasion, rubbed against each other was now quarantined. Confined to their respective plastic bag they passed each other without a sound.
The look on your face is indecipherable, an ancient Japanese puzzle designed to drive men mad.
There is hurt, yes.
There is anger, yes.
But also something else, something indefinable. The kind of expression only ever witnessed on the face of a visitor in an intensive care ward.
Words were spoken, but to no real effect. Just dull syllables that bounced off the walls. The empty pleasantries of society.
However, the looks exchanged, or indeed the lack of, belied the enormity of a situation now beyond our grasp. An endless network of complexity and compromise, of give and take, of risk and reward.
After you leave I throw the newly repatriated underwear into the drawer with a sigh, sad but thankful as I was running out.
credits
from Graphite,
released December 25, 2011
Vocals - Kevin P. Gilday
Poet Douglas Kearney and composer/producer/drummer Val Jeanty link up for a a compelling LP that feels like the written word come to life. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 30, 2021