Allison Wright

Unbidden

Published on August 21, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

Unbidden, in a constant surge, that’s how it comes. What it this “it”? It is the language all around us that begs transformation. It begs to be translated, juggled with, driven down etymological paths to dead-ends where knowledge fails.

No matter, for it backtracks and springs up anew, and slashes a track through overgrowth, climbs rocks, and swings from tree branches. I did once scream inside my head to the panoramic view of my village on the hillside that I am a translator. The village was silent. I wept.

I was smoking a cheap rolled cigarette, leaning against the wall of a laundry for that monologue. I had been elbow-deep in bleach perfecting the art of stain removal from sheets all morning. A daily penance for unknown sins. Clumsy swollen fingers not good for typing. But in those free ten minutes, my head was flooded with fresh, clean words that come – that always come, unbidden.

Enough

Published on August 20, 2019 by Allison Wright2 Comments

I had an errand in the village and then the perfect espresso coffee. I drank in the fine blue sky. All around, promises lapped at my confidence saying yes, today would indeed be productive.

The coffee was so good, I wanted more.

Always wanting more; just a little bit longer. Wait! Stay with me!

But more would have been too much, and perhaps it would have taken away the blue sky lining my soul.

I scraped the sugar from the bottom of the cup. Life is sweet like that.

In-tray

Published on August 19, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

(An attempt to describe an object.)

The handcrafted pine tray is larger than the ones purchased in the office supplies store. It is three inches deep, and easily takes the A3 sketch pads and folders piled in it, and flowing over its edges in ways that seemingly defy gravity.

A sad shaft of light reveals a thin film of dust on every edge of paper jutting out. Why would one keep an envelope, if not to protect whatever is inside? What is it, I wonder? And why did I keep it?

I have a red folder sitting right on top of a pink one. These are the only elements of colour standing out from the manilla and white. The colour scheme is scary. I shall have to apply some interior décor principles to that mess soon.

Entropic wardrobe

Published on August 18, 2019August 18, 2019 by Allison Wright4 Comments

Yes, the entropic wardrobe is a closed system and subject to randomness and disorder. Chaos, even. It is a closed system because, despite disorder within, care is usually taken to ensure that the door closes.

Of course the jolly thing is too small. That is why there exists what like-minded friends have dubbed the “drobe”, loosely defined as a chair, or other piece of furniture, placed in a bedroom to bear the weight of any clothes that for any reason do not get moved either to the laundry basket or, when clean, back into the wardrobe itself.

Sometimes, confusion occurs with drobes, for the manager of the drobe cannot remember what direction the clothes on it are supposed to be travelling. This turmoil is responsible for many an item being needlessly washed twice. Rather that, than place already worn clothes back in the wardrobe.

As to the wardrobe itself, the chief cause of entropy arises when visitors are expected and the entire amorphous pile on the drobe has to be unceremoniously dumped inside the wardrobe, whose door is firmly shut.

All this to give the impression of order, you understand.

Summers

Published on August 17, 2019 by Allison Wright1 Comment

Summer is when you have a shower and do not towel dry. Instead you wash by hand the clothes you had previously stepped out of, all the while noticing in the mirror the new wrinkles that etched character last winter into your middle age.

They glory in the brightness streaming through the window. You don’t care so much, as wonder who this new person is – or will be next year. At least you can still touch your toes. That’s something.

Sweltering

Published on August 16, 2019August 16, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

Ladies having tea and cake in the garden after playing tennis. They’re the ones who used to say it was sweltering. Flashback to when I was a little girl, and not old enough to play tennis with the adults, but old enough to serve them tea and cake.

The only reason the word popped up was because I was trying to think of a polite way of saying that it’s effing hot without using the F-word. Though of course, it is so effing hot that you bloody need an F-word to make sure everyone knows just how effing sweltering it is.

Expanses

Published on August 15, 2019August 31, 2019 by Allison Wright5 Comments

The moment she died, my beloved, all time expanded. The void, the abyss, on whose edge we all live, yawned. It yawned, and enveloped time.

Yesterday and today get caught in this void. I returned one assignment almost 24 hours early because I thought yesterday was today. I returned another much smaller assignment late today because the alarm clock whispered instead of shouting at me.

The void enveloped it. Oblivion is not always sweet.

Cement

Published on August 14, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

It was good of my neighbour to wake me from that afternoon sleep. All that scraping, and some generator-type noise. I could think of better things to do at the closing of the day. The old sound from childhood, the rhythmical grating of sand against metal as someone mixes cement.

No, wait, the cement is already mixed. Someone is shovelling it from the pile on the ground into a wheelbarrow. What on earth does he need cement for? He finished refurbishing his house last year, didn’t he? Pity about the bright blue exterior paint,but hey, who am I to criticise someone’s desire for brightness in their life?

That old joke about getting a great discount at the paint shop, because no one else wants that colour springs to mind. With a giggle and a guffaw I lie there, fully awake now.

The gritty grey cement is slopping around in my mind. And the story my builder Dad used to tell of how his workers peed on the sand pile. The sugar in their pee weakened the cement. That’s what the building inspector said. My Dad had to re-do some section of foundation for a house because of that. He had to start all over again.

Baked beans

Published on August 13, 2019August 15, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

Chili and butter in a pan with baked beans, heat not too high. She reached for her bowl and favourite spoon. She knew there would come a point when hot was hot enough. Instant gratification, that was it. Is that why she ate standing up, at the kitchen counter, gazing out of the open door?

The door banged, as usual, against the stoned wedged artistically in the jamb. She did not care. Some people did. It annoyed them. For her, it was a sign of life. It was the outside talking to the inside.

But right now, the beans were ready. She would wash the pan later, she thought, as she switch the gas burner off.

Her mother’s old pressure cooker was heavy. She remembered that.