I remember why i loved her ever always will

CARNIVAL
BY SUSAN MUSGRAVE

I ONLY REMEMBER THE RATS,
HE SAID. Nothing else, no,
not even the tired grey woman
selling tickets to
the tunnel of love.

Not the bodies of the young girls
blooming like caught sails
under the sky, or monks
in their senuous robes, fingering
theri delicate lutes.

Not even the balloon man with his
spotted dog, nor the drinking
jester, nor the faith healer
with a little bowl in his hands.

I remember counting rats.
One night there were eight of them
sharing the shabby bedsit.

They became an obsession.
In the morning when you woke
to face a soft underbelly it was
delectable nostalgia. Weapons
were futile; you pitted yourself
against theri skills.

You were a fellow-sufferer.
You found your identity in
wiping them away. For days at a time.
But even rats cannot stop
dullness creeping in.

I started dreaming of women.
Their split sex seemed an enigma,
monstrous. I had no wish for such
meaningless opulence.

My foraging became inhuman.
I gorged myself nightly beneath
beercellars and dancehalls.
I saw how dangerous my own waste
had become, and social barriers
non-existent.


I only remember the rats.
It was theri ruthlessness I admired,
theri lack of religion. I took hold of them
in my hands, squeezing life out of them
as gently as you would shake laughter out of
children.

Perhaps they were laughing at the
indignities I made them suffer. In the end
theri pain was more welcome than a friend.

But theri suffering was far more
permanent than my own: when one died
there was always a replacement.


I remember the rats,
he said. Nothing else, no,
only the rats.
Not the tired grey woman
selling tickets to the
tunnel of love, not even
the bodies of the young girls.

xx s xx