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Coral Hull : prose-poem

          G R E E N   H E X A G O N S
i have been described by you as 'complex', for example, we could say, that the sun was very bright, or that it was glary outside, but for me it was that i wiped a piece of sun from my eye, or that a green hexagon appeared in front of me, after looking into the sun, that it dropped down to the floor & i followed it down with my eyes & it followed my eyes, as a result my mood dropped into the carpet as the green hexagon dropped down behind the lounge, it was like a small sun had set between us, then it rose & followed my eyes back up along the line of your face, soon it was stuck fast to your cheek, i was reluctant to blink, but felt you being uncomfortable & that you were about to turn away, to reach for the matches, or make a cup of coffee, or to go out for a smoke, or pat the dog, oh but what this meant to me, i closed my eyes & the hexagon became infra-green, on the black rim of the black cup of what i was seeing inside my eye, an immense emotion shot through the great cavity of my heart, that in its great incapacity, was heavy & down loading, pinning me physically to the squashy lounge, where the springs had gone missing into the floor, as you stood up i felt myself dropping lower in comparison, the floor springing up beneath your feet, as you travelled two feet away, the square shoulders of your very tacky coat, the textile patches & pieces of solid paint, your silken hair in waves parted in the middle at the back of your head, & your forehead reaching out in front, soon you were in the light of the open doorway, blowing your nose into a tissue & i had never felt so low, many green hexagons began to drop & lift as my eyes lifted & dropped, soon they were pouring into the carpet like snowflakes, obviously green, in comparison to the long orange drapes in the living room, that were also dropping, soon i was being snowed upon, green hexagons disappearing into the skin of my legs & arms as i watched them dropping into my bloodstream, my boundaries had also dropped to accommodate the hexagons, i became lonely in a way, accepting that we could not disappear into each others skin, that you could not float down into mine for a moment & be submerged there, that you could not follow my eyes down to where i wanted you, for although my eyes had dropped with all the hexagons following them, you had got up to go & you spoke of your confusion, what a strange monolith you are, you do everything independently & do not follow my eyes into the carpet or up to the ceiling, you have described me as a complex person, but i have simply had the sun in my eyes & the company of hexagons since childhood, where on my back i learnt to control their rise & fall, lying on a trampoline, facing the summer sky straight from the pool, where all the hexagons had been blue, swimming in my eyes that were bathed in light, what a stranger you are, entering my loungeroom like a mountain, or is it that the sun has passed across the skylight in a certain way & now the mountain of you has become apparent, the light dappling on your crooked ridges that have always been there, now you have allowed me your back, i speak to your giant old presence as restful as rock, you are just a big pile of dirt on your own, i am sun-blind, the controller of hexagons

Coral Hull
Coral Hull is the publisher of Thylazine magazine. She completed a Doctor of Creative Arts Degree at the University of Wollongong in 1998. Her latest books are Broken Land (Five Islands Press, 1997) and How Do Detectives Make Love? (Penguin Books Australia, 1998.)
This material is copyright © Coral Hull and Jacket magazine 1998. The URL address of this page is

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