flirting after thirty-three
the first move
eyes on ring finger
flirter après trente-trois ans
le premier geste
un coup d’œil sur l’annulaire
– Tristan Coleshaw.
I have it on good authority from the artist – my aunt – that my baggy shorts were the closest thing I had to a skirt, the rubber bands on my wrist were my bracelets, and the socks were my asskicking boots. Yes, in my mind I was – and still am – She-Ra: Princess of Power…
That’s the kind of imagination you need as a writer and as a performer. And then you need to surround yourself with supportive people like my aunt, who will confirm to you that you’re absolutely bossing it.
Happy, Creative New Year, bitches!
Thanks to the fabulous team at Unbroken Journal for giving a home to this little piece of mine.
http://unbrokenjournal.com/2018/01/the-art-of-breaking-the-fall-by-tristan-coleshaw/
Christmas: the maid of honour dressed by a bride with a grudge…
Noël : la demoiselle d’honneur, habillée par une mariée qui la hait…
– Tristan Coleshaw.
“flour: ideal for bread making”
#modernwisdom.
« la farine : idéale pour confectionner du pain »
#sagessemoderne
Childhood haircut : at my mother’s tender hands an auburn oompa loompa…
Coiffure d’enfance : aux tendres mains de ma mère, un oompa loompa auburn…
– Tristan Coleshaw.
Library closures : my grandparents dying one by one.
Les fermetures de bibliothèques : mes grands-parents qui meurent un à un.
– Tristan Coleshaw.
Marriage certificate : in the wrong hands two pink triangles.
Certificat de mariage : dans des mauvaises mains, deux triangles roses.
– Tristan Coleshaw.
Pre-emptive strike, what my grandmother called oedipal foreplay.
Une frappe préventive : ce que ma grand-mère appelait « les préliminaires œdipiens. »
– Tristan Coleshaw.
Gold as a black man’s palm, the sun in London windows…
Doré comme la paume d’un homme de race noire, le soleil dans les fenêtres de Londres…
– Tristan Coleshaw.
