When We Are Less Afraid of Loving Strangers Than The People We Know
I press one end of a tin can telephone to my ear and you
hold the other. We play tug of war with the rope between us.
Nylon and polyester intertwined with our voices,
Frayed at the edges with our laughter, tears and pauses.
You are always pulling me over the line of my vulnerability.
Sometimes my heels push through the sand refutably like
the ocean caught in a lover’s tiff with the shore, and other times
I surrender willingly; spill the salt that I meant for my wounds.
I try to sketch the map of your face on to the canvas of my mind
but you are one-hundred and sixty telephone poles away and
I do not know how to draw blindfolded.
All you offer is a reflection of my words, remaining anonymous.
Yet, a frame of glass offers me its name; gently tucks
mirror into my pocket knowing that I will always be
relinquishing more vulnerability than it. There will always be
an imbalance of power, but it gives me something, lets me
be the one that gets to pull the rope stronger for a moment.
Maybe I am Leonardo Da Vinci reincarnated and need a name
to draw a portrait of someone’s smile.
And maybe this has nothing to do with Mona Lisa at all.
We share our lives with people we know nothing about.
We give our name to the cashier at our morning coffee shop.
We give our name to our mother’s friend in the shopping centre.
We give our name to the receptionist at the doctor’s surgery.
I give you a piece of my life and you are a stranger.
But because I’m now someone you know you won’t give me your name.
We have come to live in a culture that no longer believes in
stranger danger because we are now made to accept that
anonymous is a name.
By Anita Dutt
Anita Dutt is not a musician but that has not stopped her from trying to play the heartstrings. Her composition of poetry can be found at ww.aribcagesymphony.tumblr.com. She is an Australian university student studying so that one day she can be a part of the healing.