Silence is so accurate

Dear Mark

Silence is so accurate
I did not know you but
When I was asked
To write about you
I thought I should address you directly
In the way your work addresses me

And so my words lie before you now
Vulnerable and wanting
Waiting for the ink
To sink in
I sit and think of moments
When I see you and your paintings

There is a moment
When we eat out
And the restaurant walls
Speak to us so loudly
Through coffee shop art
That we cannot taste the food

There is a moment
In the coffee shop
In the coffee pot
That the filter sits so long
The brown becomes black
It tastes like a heart attack

There is a moment
Before landing and after take off
When we think about death
United by what could be the last view
Of the world we knew
Framed by an aeroplane window

Mark Rothko, Red on Maroon ,1959. Image courtesy Tate, London, 1998
There is a moment
In the way the sun sets
Over the power station
Next to the motorway
Wearing plumes of steam
Backlit by a dying star

There is a moment
In the way the sky looms
Grey like a boiled egg
Held by dirty fingers
And the clouds collect
In shards of broken shell

There is a moment
After we pour £2.99 wine -
Corner shop screw top wine -
Into a glass and it looks
And tastes like blood
We know far too well

There is a moment
When dark denim
Runs in the wash
And erroneous whites
Succumb to the indigo tide
Our clothes become disposable

There is a moment
When we cannot sleep
And in the wait for day to break
It is too dark to discern
The edges of the room
The walls from the floor

There is a moment
When the sheets
Betray our bodies
And our physical mildew
Or the shape of our head
Leaves its trace upon the bed

There is a moment
When we wake up we think
Somewhere we are not
Until we open our eyes
And look around us blinking
And realise we are

There is a moment
In between blinks
When the eyelids are the canvas
Bracketing what we see
With eyes wide open
From what we know

There is a moment
When metal meets vein
Arteries begin to flower
And what flows inside all the time
Flows outside until it's drained
And I think of you again

Mark Rothko, Untitled ,1969. Image courtesy Tate, London, 1998

There was a moment
When I first met you 
I was oblivious to your history
Now I know the way you died
I see you everywhere I go
There is a moment

In blood

In wine

In food

In drink

In eyes

In bed

In clothes

In skies

In roads

In windows

In galleries

In paintings

But I never wrote to you before
Because I could not find the way
To put a thousand pictures
Into words - I guess
That is why you say
Silence is so accurate


March 2009