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Listening to eggs

  • Posted on May 11, 2013 at 6:04 pm
chickens and eggs

What a funny old week. It’s included sharing breakup experience and asparagus with one of my dearest friends, to lunch with my PSO (previously significant other)* to discuss divorce settlements, to a very quick offer on selling our house, and the decision to move towards or into the big city (not London, for those of you outside the UK!). All topped with the euphoria of a visit to Charing Cross Gender Identity Clinic and the go-ahead for prescription hormones (no more illicit drugs!) and a surgical consultation in September. That makes for a pretty good week for me. I’ve never…

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A poem from the edge

  • Posted on May 6, 2013 at 10:38 am

Drink Brink

a glass its water still its smooth
round mouth speaks my refreshment
but I see an edge its hard
straight line will take the glass
and in one slight move will break
shards will fall an instant blade
and with it in a warm basin
a water colour red will paint
I know this and its obvious no
debate of alternatives just release
please give me time to slip aside
with this glass this incision in time

 

2013 © Andie Davidson

 

Reading this poem can be multi-dimensional. Read across; you know what it is about. Feel it. Now read bits (or all) of it down; then across, or up or at random. This poem reflects the fragmentation of the experience and (as did I) still retains integrity.

Now look for ‘inner’, ‘icy’, ‘fallen’. Ask what is happening to my will? In what sense was I in time?

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Lying in bed

  • Posted on May 6, 2013 at 9:45 am

All those times I lay back yearning for your mount.
Aching to be taken instead of only drawn to you.

You would take my hand, and place it—which I loved.
I always did the right thing, the right way, always—for you.

But if I took your hand, placed it, was held—it was that I should
take in turn. Not learn, nor just initiate, but teach—and take.

 

All those times I lay back, just yearning to be taken—
your primal desire to have, to do, to satisfy yourself.

But you could never know. ‘How strange’, you said, ‘to have
dangly bits—I really can’t imagine what it must feel like’—whilst I

I would look at you and know. And I didn’t lie, when I replied
that I knew exactly how it feels to be a woman—and yearning.

 

One of us was lying, in bed. Loving—but lying and not
realising. Eyes closed. Lying. Longing. Longing to be taken.

 

2013 © Andie Davidson

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Unspoken

  • Posted on May 5, 2013 at 6:06 pm

If I open my mouth perhaps
the fish will swim in
and I shall drown
for daring to welcome you
while under water.
But if I wait to rise
the waves may overwhelm
and I may never find you again.

So I wait, avoiding weed
that threads my ankles yet
drifts innocently around
the darting fish that rise to test
my mouth, probe, kiss, forget;
and watch you
relearning your strokes
in the same way water
has become unfamiliar to me.

And I wonder if we shall always
watch each other learning,
help each other without a word
and without a shared stroke
to swim, and surface
in an immense ocean
simply because we are afraid
of fish. And drowning.

 

2013 © Andie Davidson

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Steam radio and my tranny experience

  • Posted on May 4, 2013 at 9:14 pm
valve radio

I alluded in a previous blog (Risk of shock) to the joys of valve radios, amplifiers and similar. Not quite the kind that you toasted marshmallows on, and I remember ‘acorn valves’, which were the first step in miniaturisation. They were easy. If they glowed, they were probably working, and if the wax capacitors around them were mere blobs, something had gone wrong. Of course in those days they took time to warm up: no instant sound. A bit like my digital TV and radio really … I remember it well But I also remember buying my first, small white…

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