150: Tarmac

tarmac 150

In the bleakness of almost December I think back, I remember, as my skin cracks in the cold, those long summer days of melting heat, when I stretched too far for my own surface and ran liquid across the road. I think of the bicycle stands sinking slowly into the depths of tar, like maybe trapped dinosaurs once did, and of tyre tracks that span conglomerate up into the air, spitting back down like hot hail.

For the cold is here now causing me to huddle my black beauty around centres of strength, and the weak places split like an old man’s smile. Lined I am now by more than white apartheid borders, yellow forbidden zones and cats’ eyes down my spine. Are you on the left or right? Or do you travel a middle way? Whichever you are can you see that those on the other side are as right or left as you are? For the other is not always different, and the seasons pass, and the sun will warm my epidermis again, till I simmer with stickiness like a ready rice pudding, and sparkle in the sun.

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

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One thought on “150: Tarmac

  1. Beautifully descriptive piece, full of deep meaning and poetic expression. I love this one, Keren, and the way it speaks to me of huddling our “beauty around centres of strength” when weakness makes us crack wide open and God sees the liquid melt within as He reaches for fresh supply of tar to patch us up again better than before. You write so evocatively in your pain and weakness. It’s a gift of grace I really appreciate. Blessings and love. Xox ❤

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