Michael Harlow

A Romance

The Kite lay on its back counting quiet. Toppled in the corner the Fan was dreaming.

I don’t like closets, sighed the Kite. Nor I – closets I dislike, sighed the Fan.

. . . One is entirely forgotten.

. . . One is never remembered.

I haven’t had a decent fly in years said the Kite. Years since I remember the last heatwave said the Fan.

Silence . . .

Silence . . .

The Kite stirred herself and shifted. The Fan righted himself and hummed.

Well, do you suppose . . .? Well, I do, yes . . .

. . . Yes?

. . . Yes

. . . Oh –

. . . Oh!

When the Big Wind came uprooting graveyards and peeling the skin from the earth, the Kite and the Fan could be seen from far off – making love . . .and smiling . . .

From Nothing but Switzerland and Lemonade (Hawk Press, 1980)

© Michael Harlow
 

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Last updated 20 March, 2005