By Artemisia Allan
it is 11:58 at night and i am thinking about rose petals
and the woman on the corner of main street
telling fortunes for ten cents
who told me to fear death.
i had never been told to fear death.
her face was hollow and her hair was grey; she looked like she knew death pretty well
so i thought
i will do as she says.
that night i went home and i feared death.
i feared death in the bath, until the water turned tepid and my skin looked bruised.
in the kitchen i feared death also, wielding sharp things like a madwoman.
a twitch in my finger and one drop of blood fell –
it’s a good thing i fear death.
i feared death again in bed, and every time the curtains shifted, my stomach turned and i felt hands around my throat.
in the morning i saw a rose bush and when i walked past, one of the petals fell off and floated into the dirt, and i feared death pretty well.
in the jazz café there is a cat that all the regulars know.
he sits on the windowsill and sometimes on the railing, listens to the music and he doesn’t fear death.
sometimes i leave the crowd and sit with him on the balcony and we look at the moon.
i thought of telling him about my old woman and my rose petal, but he didn’t seem too interested and besides,
the moon was full and i think it spoke to him.
sometimes i walk along the river when everyone else is asleep and i see ghosts, white and hollow emerging from the water to reclaim their city.
sometimes i feel like running into the forest and never coming out, letting myself grow into a wild thing with leaves in my hair and scratched skin.
sometimes it is 11:58 at night and i am thinking about rose petals
and wondering what will happen when the last one falls.
Artemisia is currently a first year studying BFA of acting but would definitely be doing creative writing if she had the confidence. She is however a lover of all art forms – she is a film kid at heart and could talk forever about music and drawing and poetry. Her favourite colour is red, favourite season is winter, favourite movie is ‘A Woman Under the Influence’ and her favourite book is a little Australian treasure called ‘A Boat for Bridget’, which her mum makes fun of me for liking. Her future plans consist of travelling (a lot) and consuming as much art as possible.
