Sunday, 30 December 2012

The Work Of Maneki-neko




Dark and early, the storm struck. Thunder, overhead, close enough to knock birds from perches; the window panes flex, but hold to their frames, and rain is burst from rift heavens.
Baby and Grandad don't shift or twitch, they must be in some other world. No booming there, only snoring.
When Granma gets out of bed, she needs coffee.

Everyone talks about the storm. The fear of God is rediscovered.

'I thought the world was ending,' Girl says, 'I thought, those damn Mayans got the date wrong- it's today!' She pulls that face where her eyes are two glazed earthenware saucers.
The end of the year is close, I am thinking, what sort of reality should I like to live in next: how should the 2013 world look?

On the wide wood of our windowsill, the beckoning cat keeps busy, hustling luck from silver clouded sky, arm clicking like a metronome.





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