I am driving across the Norfolk Broads, brooding with daydreams of all the ways I have flooded. I tell you to put on that David Bowie track, in my head he sings “from Ibiza to the Norfolk Broads’, but I know that can’t be right. I try to control the sharpness of my eyes, my pupils are like fishing lines caught on the slippery lines of my mind or dowsing rods searching for water, your water. I think of my fingers and wonder if my steering wheel could become a portal. Index fingers curl and arch like longing backbones presenting crevices.
It starts to rain. Like whole buckets of water being repeatedly slapped on my windscreen. I remember the first time I ejaculated, you would make me soak my mattress every night. I remember giving birth. I remember squirting breast milk over laptop screens & into community meals when serving up. I remember crying myself to exhaustion as a grown adult because I was so scared and you were so far away. I remember putting whole hands & tongues inside you and pulling my body out covered in a mixture of all the fluids a body can produce.
I narrow my eyes again, releasing the tension in my coiled fingers and turn to my daughter, “hey baby we’re here, let’s go”.