Tamsin Hopkins reading Rash
RASH
You have a rash on your back.
I think I’m supposed to tell you,
but while you’re asleep I take a
picture of your skin and search
through fifty common skin
diseases and now I have seen
so many dermatological
nightmares, embedded insects,
worms, infections and swellings,
I don’t know how
to discuss any of this with you.
I decide I will leave you a series of
post-it notes, pink/ yellow/ green.
It’s not strictly relevant, my
mother wants me to be a doctor, a
dermatologist could be acceptable,
or failing that I could marry a
doctor, but I told her – I can’t even
stand thinking about the
discussions we’d have at dinner
every night. Or at breakfast.
Those medical eyes.
Going by all the pictures I
Googled, I think you may have
Colorado Tick Fever, although I
don’t suppose it’s prevalent in
Vauxhall. Or you are allergic – to
the sheets / the washing powder /
your shirts/ your X-Box chair. Or
me. Possibly, you’re regressing,
becoming the teenager I never
met. Your sister says you had skin
issues then. If I ever become a
dermatologist, if I even befriend or
date a skin specialist, I will let
you know. A green post-it under
your door.
QUESTIONS I WOULD ASK IF
WE EVER GET MARRIED
Should I preserve a clear image of
myself in my own mind? Should the
image have a strong outline? Are you
doing this? Is it important to retain a
memory of what you’ve forgiven for
forgiveness to work? Is it important
to know who and what your parents
loved, or is it enough that they
existed? How important is it to like
your lover’s family? Why do your
friends never mention your ex?
Would a full veil wreck my hair? Will
the wedding be in Jamaica? Will it be
windy? What kind of rice will people
throw? Will it stick in the veil? Will
turtles come up the beach to watch
us? Will dolphins frolic and leap for
the photos? Is it true that your friends
like me better than they like you?
Have I imagined this? Does having a
titanium plate in your face make you
have weird dreams? Why doesn’t
your father drink? Why doe your
brother drink so much? Can self-
knowledge ever be achieved without
knowing your parents? Do orphans
have it easier? If I forget what you
did, does that mean you are more, or
less likely to do it again? Why did it
take you three years to tell your sister
about me? Just asking. Will I trust
you to drive with children in the car?
Will the sides of my face age
differently?
French Glacier
When you said you’d like to see me at two-thirty, I said yes.
When you named the place, I thought you’d look stunning
in all that scenery. I said: yes, yes.
There are two ways here – valley up or peak down.
I’m checking for you in both directions, over my shoulder,
using selfies, so as not to appear obvious.
There’s nobody else here. Except an older couple down to the left,
each holding Ziplock bags containing perfect fondue bread cubes.
Probably rye bread – just the way you like it.
It’s already two-forty-five and if I leave, I might meet you
on the way up and then I’d have to turn around. Are you on the way?
In a distant cable car, zipped up in Parker and mittens?
Yes, I am wearing the wrong clothes. Yes, I didn’t want those boots
or any form of cagoul. You’d think four inches of stiletto would hold
a pirouette in the ice, but what they have here is not what I call ice.
Also, you didn’t say glacier ice would be dirty – pitted and rutted, as if
an army of jeeps passed this way just yesterday. Or trucks full of GIs,
like in the Dirty Dozen, which I’ve seen seven times. Thanks to my father.
Since you’re running late, I’ll probably sit on this boulder and watch
my own breath. I might ask the older couple to give me a photogenic
square of bread. I could hold it between my lips until you get here.