Gill Horitz
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Marcia or Martin
Is that Marcia or Martin in the distance – there by the old wall? Depends
who got the upper hand after breakfast. I guess Marcia, always so brilliantly
attuned, she couldn’t wait. First thing she said, ‘I dreamt of a large specimen,
Limax flavus, squirming under the hedge', followed by 'and bats in the blue jar
by tonight, if I can find them'. Of course, I know what to expect. She has
that glare: never expects discourse. She slammed the door as she left and
the inks toppled off the nightstand. ‘Lights of the world be free!' she called,
a kind of manic crie de joie. l watched little tremors shimmer over the
surface of the ink and thought how much like her, all that viscous potential.
Remember the Island of Naath, her night vigil to find a black moth? That
sort of fervour. And still the same blue gloves. I do think, ever since the
tracheostomy, her ferocious rushing has become more pronounced. Which
means Martin is more frequently kept at bay. So, it’ll be Marcia today.
Published in Visual Verse:
Image by Helen Marten