Danielle Chapman

Destination Wedding Destination Wedding

Drunk as a persimmon on the wine of Cana or myself, I couldn’t tell— the old pain and the old dream mingled and seasickness threw kisses in shapes upon the wall like shells  upon the shore outside the conch- shaped hall in whose pearled hum I danced  as if my feet were small  and free of gravity as sea lice. When above the palms, horns, drums and silks I heard a creature high in moss- tangled eucalyptus cry for milk— a creature not my own, yet still  my milk let down. I looked up and it locked me in a stare, half-child, half-marsupial, that transfixed me on the scallop of the terraced white hotel it squatted on  until sure that I had seen it dove back into the lagoon  like a weasel chasing an eel  ever further into the nature of oblivion.

Jan 7, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Danielle Chapman