Issue Two - October 2007
Kate Vinen
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Kate Vinen is a writer and director whose most recent short film, 'Rebecca', is due for completion in 2007. She is also a singer/songwriter and poet. Her poem ‘The Last Swim of Summer’ was short listed for the 2006 Wet Ink Poetry Prize. Her biggest inspirations are wild places and wild men.
The Search Party
My mouth has been this dry before, White lipped and deathly dry, But from a different kind of walking Where your body was the path And your heart the destination. If there was a way back I would lose it to the land; The crumbs of love Are hiding under canopies That never let the sunlight in. Few words were exchanged But so much was spoken; One is a language to unlearn That places the future in settings Amongst alpine grasses And flannel flowers. Everything is hidden or exposed, Nothing just is And still they search for me; Bush has been tracked Riverbeds, dragged For the body that never surfaces. There is no one to blame now that Mr. Sin is dead; But she swears, sin never dies. The sights he and I saw Blur together And the roads disappear. I looked down from the peak Of the mountain To find more mountains Below, and understood My loss is everyone's loss, And on Waterfall Way The granite outcrop Hid our dealings from the day. The feeling, I remember Was all-encompassing Between a rock and a hard place. There is your blood. There is my blood. There is our blood together.
The Last Swim of Summer
Our first swim was the last swim of summer. You said I needed boys that Smelt like the sea; Now that they are gone And you are right Memories lurk down by the wooden boats. Things I didn't know about; I hate not knowing everything. It is a reminder that the world exists without me, That I am not a part of everything. If only I had known then You can only romanticise something when it's gone, Like some kind of consolation prize for your loss. I will shut my eyes, open my legs And view the world as I see it. I find myself wishing there was only one place I had ever known you So I could destroy it. There are too many places that have part of me. We drove back the following night and you said We had won And I knew by you saying it that we hadn't.