from Ripe
The sun sets from the inside out, house on fire. Garden and sky
layered in the square of glass. Flushed reflections of blossom float
across your face as you peer through the window at the pear tree.
The lamps are three moons in the gloom of the twilight as I stand
watching you, before I go in. It smells like winter but it’s spring. Too
cool to taste, too much of a thing trying to get you to come out.
Before the door clicks shut, and the house settles, you, Katherine, are
already asking me how I am and how my day was and if I
remembered to get pears from the grocer. They aren’t ripe you say,
nodding to the tree. I notice you’ve lit the beeswax pear in the hall, its
wick a stem, now burnt and puddled into gold, almost out. He’s such
a fuckboy, you say from the kitchen. I go in, and you’re leaning
against the table, pouring something into green glasses, jade in this
light, rippled and translucent. I wonder how long you’ll stay.
kat kass kate kezia
katie kathie kasia
kassie katherine kathleen
katherina katarzyna
katya
k
-
Last time I saw you was during the heatwave. I could feel the heat
humming off the buildings in the dark. You’d never been to Italy, so
we booked a train and wound our way down through the continent.
You told me about your time in Switzerland and its snow-capped
peaks as the pines rushed past. We didn’t do any sight-seeing, just
swimming, jumping off the rocks into the Adriatic. When we floated
on our backs we could hear the crackle of shrimp like popping candy.
I watched the sun ripple across your skin, bleaching you blue as you
dived deep. Now we go swimming at the pond on the heath, you wear
a silver bikini and take the top off to sunbathe. The green murk
of the pond swallows you when you go under, and I count the
seconds as you hold your breath. Can you breathe again? Is it that
easy? Resurfacing, you flash silver against the green of the willows.
I was going to be named Katarzyna, but my cousin got it instead.
What if we were a pair, with versions of the same name—would you
stay then?
Laura Surynt
Born and raised in Tāmaki Makaurau Laura Surynt has work recently published by Ache Magazine and The Spinoff. She is the author of the pamphlet Speech Therapy published by Takeaway Press. She currently teaches and writes in London.