April 2021

I could’ve gone the other way,
the one that didn’t lead to you
and all the tears that followed.
Could I?
I could’ve chosen another life,
where we never met
and all the pain didn’t come to be.
Could I?
I could’ve said no at any point,
at the beginning, but also the end,
and saved us both a lot of trouble.
Could I?
I could’ve vanished quietly,
or with a loud bang
and we could have been happy.
Could we?

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Mike Enerio.}

With minute steps they slide into the room,
their hands slowly wrapping around my neck:
I had no chance to second-guess
which way to turn.
The nightmares course through my veins
like a needle scratching vinyl:
delicately, relentlessly until the end.

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Jon Tyson.}

I’ll have two scoops of night time
with a dash of midnight sun
in a cone made of the possibilities of dusk.
Let me blow soap bubbles filled with tomorrows,
bounce on a trampoline made of silly dreams
and lie in meadows formed of children’s laughter.
I may never make it
to the end of the rainbow
but I’ll make the journey worthwhile.

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Cyrill Hänni.}

It was only a minor malfunction
in this universe
but it was enough
to wreak havoc
with planned events:
soulmates led astray,
connections missed,
treasures lost.
We will never know
the lives that didn’t come to be.

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Mathew Schwartz.}

The keys move my hand,
draw in my fingertips,
guide me through the story,
introducing me to new friends
that will live
in my memory forevermore.
Like a sculptor freeing
statues from marble blocks,
like a painter uncovering
landscapes hidden in the canvas,
like a love joining
two souls together in the void.
This fiction is strange,
is indubitable, is intrinsic,
is no fiction at all.

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Florian Krumm.}

I’ve been upside down for a while,
skewed like ripples in a pond,
haven’t known my left from right,
failed to recognise my own face.
But who’s to say this isn’t me
the way I was supposed to be?
I dread to think it was true
but the other version also
couldn’t be with you.

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Kelly Sikkema.}

This is not where we disembark,
it cannot be where we alight,
it must not be where we come ashore.
This chopping sea will not end
with an ebbing tide;
this vintage car will not go to pieces
wrapped around a tree.
This wraith will be vanquished
with all the might in my heart
and when I wake from this nightmare,
we will not be apart.

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Kelly Sikkema.}

Life could be a force for good
but that is so hard in adulthood.
So instead we just pretend
and quietly lament our descent
into a betrayal of childhood.

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Miguel Bruna.}

This is my little ode
to the glossy-mantled manucode.
It is my favourite bird of paradise:
green, blue, purple black and medium size.
They move alone or in pairs:
I so wish the world was theirs.
They like to eat fruit and figs,
if only I could have one in my digs.
Oh, glossy-mantled manucode,
won’t you spend time in my abode?

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Simon Berger.}

I build paper airplanes in my spare time
to throw my dreams a lifeline.
I play with toy cars on Sundays
to cure my malaise.
I drive model trains every night
to pretend that I’m alright.

^{Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Marjan Blan.}