Investigating the life of things across space and time
Dispatch by decapitation:
A heavy-spined knife
to sever her neck,
slit open her belly, belly.
Remove the guts quickly
and set aside her head,
fins swimming back to the sea;
mouth gasping, gasping.
Crunch through her back bone
And chop chop, skin on,
into bite-sized pieces.
Still wriggling, wriggling
throw into a pan of fresh water.
Rinse hands, knife and board
clean of blood, blood
(if skin has any prior wounds,
wear gloves throughout).
Do not rub eyes, eyes;
dispose of entrails.
Add a splash of malt vinegar,
sea salt and white pepper.
Boil then simmer gently, gently
waiting for the skin to flake
as moths and midges gather, gather
in the growing steam.
Skim and cover;
set overnight in fridge.
Next morning, stir and serve cold, cold
in delicate white bowls
with a cup of sweet milk tea
to wash down the jelly, jelly.
He is a red man all over, everyone can smell it. Even through the jasmine oil I apply so liberally before each shave he reeks of rusty iron and musk like the heavy gate to the bull’s field that was left open last year. I prattle on about the weather and tug my comb through his beard with my fingers crossed. Every time I snag on a knot I wince, afraid by the size of his huge hairy fists and the bulk of him sprawled across my biggest chair.
Uganda is hot and dark. Late into the December night we sit on planks in the back of a stripped out land rover. We are driven faster than our bodies would like, the speed rattling my bones, teeth, brain, recording equipment.
Salt is mined, extracted and evaporated. Stitching mends holes, fills in blank space. This artwork began life as the back of an unfinished needlepoint and grew into an exploration of geology and archeology.
For Nin, poor Nin. For Nin neither.
So much for you to hear and fear, that owl hoot and dog bark is not for you. Come out from under your wing soft down. You are needed.