Ripple Effect

Rosemary Stevens

I am prehistory; a predator gilded in memory.

Flying saucers braille my skin, horns attuned to the moon. Memorial plaques veil the names of the future dead overseeing the space between – semaphores of silence –Arachnid angst lurks in shadows – grows extra legs.

I am a corridor of whispers behind the door, the whiskered cat coiled, black, under the lamp, at home on the fringes where your dream is my dream.

Kink in the hall. Bow-legged stand wears snake turban, tight-coiled weave of pastel scales. Shades of childhood.

A sinister turn unslithers carpet snake. Feel me in your belly.

The tip of its tail – bone pale – charms your spine: let go into my lunar rug-scape.

Slip past wise lips, paternal smile –death is art – seagull dashed to granite; chador, a mystery.

Crouch with puppy on the prayer mat where paradise trees branch families and dark flowers bloom. Black dog lies down with the gilded serpent, reptilian eyes seeking the centre.

Water buffalo answers the call, great head lifted, body a rock radiating from the red centre.

Uluru dreaming.

Earth my body; rivers my blood; sun-beat heart; my words, your breath. Listen!

Cat pricks an ear, sentinel on the shelf, sinister side inhabiting the mirror it presses against.

Gaze fixed on the ghost of the past enfolded in mystery. Which one is true?

I am a corridor of carcasses. No ear to hear.

Five black bones.

I am Wednesday’s child, photographic memory in black and white on the paper carpet, head lifted, lit from within, right hand reaching.

Who is this child called by the Muezzin?

What does he know of camel coiled in moon-spun rope, noose at the neck; outback forebears, feral; free?

Dromedary looks to the future, beyond black hounds to where the stingrays come at the hour of death, and the call is answered.

The black beasts break their chains, teeth bared, hounding the heels of the past. Steal past the three-headed dog, leaping its double into the void. Dog stars caught in constellations –granite pools of chandeliers.

Steal to the beach; the pier in the present, already past, to rainbow jewels of memory; stars in your eyes, head lifted, right hand reaching, stingrays under your skin.

Author’s note

I was captivated by Abdul-Rahman Abdullah’s 2021 exhibition, Everything Is True. ‘Ripple Effect’ tracks my own journey through corridors of memory sparked by Abdullah’s whimsical interplay of illusion and reality. The artist’s dreamscape has archetypal resonance; feline images recall a childhood pet, and a recurring dream where a black cat glides behind a beaded curtain, and a snake uncoils. The sculpting of wood into soft drapes, snakeskin and feathers inspired my attempt to echo the artist’s playful way with detail and juxtaposition affirming the links that make everything true.

Rosemary Stevens is a Western Australian writer and sessional lecturer in creative and professional writing at Curtin University. Her short fiction and non-fiction have appeared in The Asia Magazine, Westerly, Fremantle Press, Meniscus, and other publications. She has a background in publishing and editing and has worked as a travel writer in S.E. Asia. Rosemary facilitates life writing courses at The Centre for Stories and other community venues. She is also part of a group of female performance artists creating autobiographical works exploring planetary and zodiacal influences on the vowels and consonants inspired by Rudolf Steiner.

Abdul-Rahman Abdullah, Wednesday's Child, 2013, tinted resin, paper, chandelier. Courtesy of the artist and Moore Contemporary. Installation view, Everything is True, 2021. Photography by Sue-Lyn Moyle.