Tuesday October 2, 2018
Beneath Our Feet
Redfern Jon Barrett
Frida sings me a lullaby and I toss and turn and hope that someone – anyone – might save me from myself.
It doesn’t have to be you, although that would be ideal.
You, fresh from the shower and smelling of sand and amber. You, seeming to have grown a few inches overnight – how do you do that? You, sweet mermaid man, good to the bone, knowing the perfect amount of honey for tea and exactly how to light a room a dusk.