The Other


Maxine was the name of the woman in the pyjamas and the perfect hair

The one that came when the muddiness arrived to fill my eyes

Maxine would cook and clean, Scrub and Buff

The one whose mind is not easily displaced

Maxine felt no sadness or confusion

The one who is driven not by her happiness

She lived and did and made and created

She who did not give too much, or loved too much

Maxine, The One who knew it all


But she would disappear, Maxine would.

How could she stay long?

For I had to wake up and smell the coffee

and unlike her, I had to take off my shoes

and dance ridiculously to the music in my head

I had to get up, get out, stay out

I could be lost in the drafts that slip in from beneath my doors

And I would swing on rainbows that curved over high houses

I could sway, pray, give away

all that it is that seems to have made me

I can only accept that Maxine is not me

We look alike, sound alike,

sit on the porch of my mother’s house and share a cup of tea

We could even go to sleep and wake up in the pretty lime pyjamas

But when night came and the clock struck the hour


Maxine is the one that is when I am not.


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