Poems by Jakob Zaaiman on Medium
Moon Tower Ton
A contemporary poem
An uncertain drink — Advocaat. I don’t
know, very sweet honestly — but Abigail said
she liked it, so we had to drink the stuff, a
whole sickly bottle, well on into the night; though
our conversation stayed okay — normal — anchored
perhaps by the presence of her boringly normally
okay brother; but I didn’t think Abbie as a person
was unsteady or unstable or loony; and I don’t
remember sensing lunacy, but I do well remember
Abbie’s extreme skinniness and her skinny
arms and skinny legs and very skinny taught face,
brought well –to-life with those dark brown eyes
set in black shadow-rimmed sunken sockets. And
in her flimsy one-piece patterned dress, she
looked a bit like a kind of dream figure; more
to the point, a naughty devil fairy.
And okay yes yes her aristocratic mother
suffered from constant bouts of explosive mental
illness, suddenly wailing and screaming when
something absurdly ordinary and…
