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Calle Tiede
She sleeps jet lag sleep. It is perhaps in a dream that she gets out of bed and walks a figure 8 pattern on the floor of the bedroom. The sunlight refracted through the prisms of window, leaking into the room around the edges of drawn shades. The curious loping rhythm of time. When clouds of cicada sound come: that way.
She sleeps jet lag sleep. Seen from overhead, her body would be arranged on the mattress beneath the blankets in the shape of the letter "h." The green walls of the bedroom seem to glow. Closing her eyes, permutations of that green unspool like images on a filmstrip: garden, courtyard, paint swatch. The figure of a man wearing a derby appears in the foreground. He points behind him at the wall on which the film strip images are projected. Beneath his beard, his mouth is moving. She cannot hear what he says.
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a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle
spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear
it make you sick.
-kamau brathwaite
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