Two prisoners whose cells adjoin communicate with each other by knocking on the wall. The wall is the thing which separates them but is also their means of communication. It is the same with us and God. Every separation is a link.

Simone Weil

i sit,

i am the sitting.

the coffee cup is

smooth and warm in this hand,

this hand that is for feeling things,

feeling the world, once

for feeling you.

the coffee tastes like nothing in this mouth ,

it tastes like a sink sponge feels

or a clogged drain smells,

and this mouth is…


i won’t labour the point.

i am surronded


by people;

an elderly couple is laughing,

a younger man is shaking his tightly

curled head, another man

sits alone.

and to the side of me are the checkouts,

beneath giant green and yellow signs


“kitchen towels, bin liners

motoring, toilet rolls,

long life



and things are scanned, packed and

paid for while conversations

go on ad nauseum

and the checkout girl is exhausted


by it all. a cup cries out

a clatter

smashed on the floor

(it is mauve but dappled dull reds,

pale pinks and oranges that seem

depressed variations on the same impoverished brown

smudges like painted finger nails

that remind me of the morning routine)


and all these people i am

surrounded by, these people for whom

I am part of the surrounding,

they each have lives

inside of life;

rich and varied worlds

and yet somehow

all the same

and i am


just another of them,

among them,

as we are all tangled up with each other,

all enmeshed,


impossible to separate

and yet somehow entirely




and my coffee is finished now.

the rain has stopped and

the sun returning.

i am standing up to go,

i am the standing,

i am the necessity and impossibility

of letting you


a reading of metaxu


2 Responses to “metaxu”

  1. 1 Jingle

    creative and fun poem!

  2. 2 1markt

    “Tied to one another”, indeed!

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