1135. STILL LIFE IN BLUE AND WHITE

STILL LIFE IN

BLUE AND WHITE

For at least the time being I am living without

reference, without you, and without direction.

Now, to my left, are the heights of Morningside -

as they are called - and, farther off, the jumble of

the Jumel Mansion. So many things are different,

while so much is yet the same. I see little women

with petticoats and bonnets scurrying around.

They hold trays in their tiny, small hands.

Tea and coasters, things to eat. Odd it all

is to see this now, years and years on.

-

If people say I am a seer, it is because I see, but,

yea, only backwards - through a mist of time,

through blue China dyes and porcelain tiles

and Delft. All those things of those very odd

words and very old days. In essence, whatever

I am and see, I want to be left alone. This is

all ruined by crowds, dissembled by noise.

-

I am jarred anew by the sound of a truck or a bus,

one or the other, breaking through space. Two modern

men, loud and annoying, are bolting past me walking

fast and - seemingly - now shouting towards each

other as if they actually have something to

say. What a wasted day. This is leftover time,

poorly spent, a civilization of laggards and dopes.

Others are eating from paper wraps, spitting as

they talk and chew. Gentility falls to the ground

around them, their still life in white and blue.