PORTFOLIO

Monday, 21 November 2016

Travelling

digital illustration by amy leonard

Sitting on trains looking out of windows at the rain is enough for me. We talk about unravelling, like when a yarn becomes disentangled and unwoven from its piece, or when a life frays about the seams. But what about ravelling? Winding up like a thread onto a spool? Like working lace into a knot?

In the dark the train makes slow progress. And I think everyone can see that I’m wound up tight, knot-like. Though, I’ve spent so long travelling I’ve started untravelling. It’s like the curiosity that makes the cat roam, they plot a new map and they never come home.

Tuesday, 5 January 2016

"THE HOSPITAL BY THE SEA"



I like to live where I can see the sea. It reminds me that I am tiny. The ceaseless shifting of a million points of light connected by the netted surface are hypnotic like a fireside, like television sets, like hideous catastrophe. Shadows and light, shadows and light - a sprinkle of fishes, sinking like coins in a wishing well. I am in three places at once, on land, at it's bed, and I am also far away.

The moon, bone-white, drawing the tides. It looms. I lope away from the hospital, hating that I'm tired. I wish there was someone better then me to protect you. You're a rose-bud in a hothouse. The nurses are gardeners, tending to you, tweaking the dials and watching you grow, waiting with me to see if you'll root here on this earth. Maybe you won't. Maybe I sniffed you down from that place of angels on a chain of stars, and you were better off so far above.

I hope that you intend to stay. Is there someone I can pray to?

©Amy Leonard, 2016.