Sunday, May 13, 2007


The earthquakes are frequent. Like a giant child picking up a mysterious present and shaking it, to see what's inside. But it's our house, and we're inside, tiny heads shuddering on tiny pillows. It always happens in the pre-dawn hours. Knick knacks, books, vases falling off shelves. New Zealand is a very shaky island. A monsterous living thing, stirring in its sleep. Drills all through my school years. Giggling, sighing, hiding under chewing gummed desks. We're supposed to be tense, waiting for the BIG one. Like one in the 60s, in Napier, when the earth literally opened up, buses and people walking dogs tumbled into it, down down down. I think the earth closed again, then. A nifty time to fake a disappearance.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

are you coming back to montreal at some point?

4:12 AM  
Blogger Michelle's Spell said...

Beautiful, scary imagery. This works great as a prose poem.

8:35 AM  
Blogger chapman said...

i sort of like the idea of the earth moving around and reminding you it's there and mutable. people get far too comfortable and safe.

but that's just me and i've never felt the ground shake underfoot.

9:43 AM  
Blogger tui said...

you're right, it feels nice. Especially when you're tucked up in bed...

7:45 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Tui, please don't let the sudden chasms of life suck you down into the underworld. Real people live and act under the sun, no matter how shaky their ground.


5:34 AM  
Blogger Lx said...

in '76 i went thru
a 7.3 in Bucharest, Romania.
half my building collapsed
and i walked down 8 floors
listening to people under the rubble
it was as if some giant's sword
sliced the fucking thing

then, jan. 17, 1994
i was in northridge, california
on a business trip
when the 6.7 temblor hit.
it was 4:30 am, local time.

i fucking hate them.

6:50 AM  
Blogger IVY said...

Love the last line, "A nifty time to fake a disappearance."

5:32 AM  

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