Lyrical Doubt

“The monumental darkness and the darkness of the light, illuminated night, day for night.

A false heralding from the golden daffodil proclaimed the season, then gave in to more dull bitter days and cold nights. A season that stretched forever barbed with empty promise.
Living in slow motion, retreating to an illusory world, the real was moved to memory mixed with desire. Watching the waiting she put on lipstick the colour of rose-bay willow-herb and this pedant world passed her by.

She woke, and turned over so he could inspect her back, he towered above her. Her skin was red and blotchy, and embedded in the back of her left thigh was a thick clot of blood, a viscous kidney-shaped canker. He crossed the room to where a dart board hung on the wall, pulled out a dart and went back to her, he wanted to pierce the clot with the dart, to gouge it out, she protested vehemently,  she would do it herself with a sewing needle.
The domestic hieroglyph reveals the static reality”.

Judith  Goddard. 1984