Dark soles

Look, he said, proudly. Black on black on black. They won’t show anything. 

Five days of walking filled all their crevices. Not at home but abroad, on the slopes of modestly sized mountains and down service roads. There was welcome rain during one day and two nights that filled the guts carved into the clay and didn’t penetrate. The texture of buttercream but not the colour. I smashed the black soles on the edge of the small front stair. 

A trip into town relieved some of the pressure. There was rain there too but it was more a rinse than a soak. The creamy lime stains on the laces washed away. The resistance provided by paved surfaces worked thin lines of grout from the cracks but there was excess. It had been applied like fondant, liberally, on the level that held my foot above the earth. In the airport lounge with the travellers who had come from places with firmer ground, it remained visible. I rubbed each toe cap against the commercial grade carpet. Black on corporate blue.

In the side street that bends with the house named Trial and Error, the residue finally gave way. The stones were smooth under foot and it was pouring. It didn’t take any effort. I came home clean. 

Stemless and leafless

She was folded into the rear corner, the one where the courtyard window and the china hutch meet.

May I use your eyes, she asked, holding out a small plate. What do you think of this painting here in the centre. I think the colour has been applied over the glaze.

The plate was a small, modified square, its corners docked and gently rounded. Along the edges were small flourishes, slate grey applied on bright white. I ran my fingers over them and detected a subtle relief.

No, she said. That was there from the beginning. I mean the flowers.

The flowers were simple petals in an assortment of ceruleans. The centres were rendered with dark dots, stemless and leafless. They floated across an invisible horizon. False colours on false forms. I ran my finger over them. I felt nothing of substance and said so.

It’s clear to me that someone painted these flowers over an existing, completed plate, she continued. At first I thought my eyes were playing a trick but I have my glasses on. I can see very clearly that this was a diversion. Someone added this. They weren’t content with what was there.

I said that I found it charming, especially for so little. She retreated to the corner.

I don’t care about the price. I’m just wondering who had the last word.

List

-mover with washing machine; laundry in drum

-camisole untied, satin, shining; bright green on brick

-burnt orange leaves; detached prematurely

-young cat on hind legs, tangled in broken blinds

-painting of zipper on exterior wall, teeth straining to conceal stone