Open Call - Winter
1 min
My favorites
Flooding on Gore St
Amity Smith
It is the first rain of the season, and your house is flooding. Your kitchen, a low-risk
weather warning as the water slowly creeps into the cotton of my socks. You have the
same pair. I flood your bathroom each time I shower. There is this excess of water. I think
about Genesis 6:9, but this thing is not wicked, it is not evil, our flesh is not corrupt. I
must remind myself that Melbourne has old houses, and sometimes water leaks. Not
everything is an allegory, not everything is symbolic of a damned ending. I remember the
lines,
"All flesh has corrupted his way upon the earth"
as I watch the water, as it seeps out from the grout of your shower. The water soaks your
grey bathmat a shade of black. I must remember, a bathmat cannot act as an omen of
rot.
"All flesh has corrupted his way upon the earth"
I am not a religious person; I am an agnostic lost in the chant of superstition, a man-
made tale of destruction.
"All flesh has corrupted his way upon the earth"
I try and tell you what I mean. Sat at your tablecloth covered in pears and other assorted
fruits, that I know reminds you of the place where you got your name. There are ellipses
in the dialogue, I let you fill them as you please. Let your tongue run anxious. I'm figuring
it out, what this is, as a vague outline of the thing sits with us at the table.
My friends ask me if I'm seeing anyone in this new city I call home, I must remind
myself that being excited about feeling something, won't make it disintegrate. I can tell
them about your idiosyncrasies; the way you take your coffee, the pyramid of freckles on
your left arm. Things fall apart whether you swaddle them, or not. I don't know how to
keep you out of my mouth.
A few days later, on a Sunday, the floor dries from Melbourne's sporadic sun. We find
our limbs tangled on the very same kitchen tile as we grab at each other's skin. There is
an excess of things that live in this house as we practice the syllables of our names on
the others tongue. I am trying to not go looking for cracks. As you like to say, I am
clumsy, and this thing is too new for me not to break.
But, just so you know— If I liked you anymore, I might just end up loving you.
Explore the power of words
Select a story