He didn’t mean to, but when what’s normal for everybody overwhelms him, Gordon can’t keep up with the arbitrary rules.
When no one was watching, Gordon interrogates the night sky. Why give me strong teeth and a weak heart?
He plunged. All that he feared surrounded him. He said hi to everyone. Everyone said, Hi Gordon. They tickled him a bit and teased him a little. Then they left. Gordon thanked the moon for chasing darkness away.
It was business as usual.
I stitched irregular shapes to one another into a shell, filled it with remnants to give it shape.
Plus a little more in the belly so it’ll sit straighter, taller, and it broke.
Right in the centre where the human ribcage would be to protect the heart and lungs.
I patched the gaping hole with what’s left on the desk— a blossom print.
Flowers always find their way to life abandoned.
Her heart will never stop breathing.
I call her Heather.
Predator is the word on my mind when I started sketching a great white shark.
Grey and blue scraps cobbled up most of the body. The materials didn’t come together well, splitting and stretching in an unpredictable manner. So does the personality.
The formidable shark in my mind was no where to be seen. Instead, he is a boy vulnerable like the discarded scraps he is patched up of.
He wants to be loved not feared.
Back home in the waters, he only swims backstroke so others will have a chance to know him.
Under his belly, seen only when he stands up to say goodbye, reads—please stay.
I call him William.
Like tangram puzzle, I cut a hammerhead out of a piece of white scrap lying on the desk.
The blue stain sits on lower left belly like a patch of water deciding to cling on.
From the back to the fin, I patched greys and blues.
He knows he’s barely strung together with dispensable bits.
He worries every minute he’ll fall apart. Yet, the strong thread tension in his body reminds him he’s alive.
Written on his belly: I shall be brave. I call him Gordon.
