Then cut my hair.
I carried her into the bathroom, stood beside her in the
mirror, both of us naked.
Well, look at you, I said.
It got dark.
I kept the curtains closed. Outside I knew
the horse was there. I didn’t eat. I didn’t leave my room.
There was a rash on my back from hours against the
radiator.
In the middle of the night there was a sound in a
distant part of the house that I’d not been in yet – like
someone dropping something small but heavy on the
carpet.
Instinctively I looked to where the mannequin was.
She gazed back with my face, placid in the gloom.
I felt better.
The morning was wet but brighter.
I dressed the mannequin in my clothes, put her in a bin
bag, partly sticking out, and carried her up along the
river.
I thought how mad we must look –
my double and I,
felt buoyed-up by it,
walking bouncily – big strides – I passed the swan
down in the reeds by the water, it eyed me angrily,
not now, Zeus, darling! I said and winked.
I felt amazing.
I passed an elderly man, out on a bench
facing the water.
Who’ve you got there? He said as I passed him.
My daughter! I called back over my shoulder.
I took her straight to the museum, placed her in a corner
of the pub tableau – pen in hand, notebook on the table
– she looked frightened.
Good.
I left her there.
The weather was positively glorious now.
Bright blue sky and sunshine glinting off the muddy
banks,
which now seemed edible, I thought.
