P E A C E O F M I N D SOPHIA GEORGHIOU
P E A C E O F M I N D
SOPHIA GEORGHIOU
D E A R R E A D E R , To all our women who have inflicted us with their art Some are now in heaven. Some are here today. Forgive us for our trespasses, but we've been fighting all this time. And its hard to forgive the men who trespass against us, and not let them lead us into temptation. Yet may we be delivered from evil, into expressionists. Amen
P E A C E
This is my breathing ground. A place where I can express my thoughts and emotions on Feminism and its everlasting culture. I think it is important that we remember strong women throughout history. From the women who reside in countries that disallow them the right to choose what they do with their own bodies, to the trans women and women of colour who are often excluded from mainstream feminism. I stand beside all my sisters in solidarity– Sex workers, stay at home mums, women who choose to take their husbands last name, women who don’t want to be mothers, mistresses and young women. Always fight for liberation and forever empower women– because women are equal to men. “We cannot achive an equal world with half the team sitting on the bench.”
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CONTENTS 05 ON SUNDAYS I MAKE PANCAKES
07 ELENI
09 ROMAN ROAD
11 PERFECT LITTLE EGG
P E A C E
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13 DAUGHTER
17 THEÂ OTHER WOMAN
20 THANK YOU
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S U N D A Y S , I M A K E P A N C A K E S
06
I love him today, because it's Wednesday. In that two-floor loft in the middle of the city. A house of Balloons. I agree, there comes a time in a man's life where he must take responsibility for the choices he has made. But i've got red lamb and clean church shoes and white burqas for those winter nights. Sidewalks save my life, because it's Sunday. And "darling, no call this day it mine and my girlfriend's only day off together."
E L E N I
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Eleni on the dotted line but Els by midnight dazed by cartoon lights, Elen-a at coffee hour, the ‘aa’ that rolls off his tongue just enough for her to lend him her sweet body, El with woollen tears and cinnamon sugared milk that even lions and cobras and white vultures provide for their baby girls. The three elevated El-en-i bellowed at dusk when Zeus arrives home and controls the sun and the stars and the ordered little El he brought up but broke with his lightning strike slap while Hera prays in the corner. To them, stargirl, groped in peanut stained bars whiskey fingerprinted poles euphoric lights as bright as she means on the dotted line. To me she was Elen that called in sick 20 minutes before poetry class which was supposed to be a personal exercise but no one can deny themselves a better subject than Eleni.
R O M A N R O A D
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My daughter, put down that cutlass and come inside Be a free child whilst your hips still bloom Where will you go? I know she kicked him out straight after she found out he was a 'good for nothing.' After they tried for the last time but her womb had already turned to stone. Bloody eggs in the bathroom d r o w n i n g leeches and rats in sewers A red city.
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P E R F E C T L I T T L E E G G
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“But still you’re a perfect little egg”
Whipped up licked like After the Rain mousse cake she smoothes her hair with automatic hand. Long and dark, she peers up at the picture of a fiery-headed woman probably bursting with intellect and love. "No use worrying about a man who is well in bed with someone else" Presses down on a purple bruise, and rips his head away from her cunt. This Italian dog without his chew toy, stammers, "it's a secret darling." "Paranoid, you're paranoid" She kicked him out after she used him. Like after he used his wife, kicking her ovaries and sizzling bacon on the stove. "Double espresso, please" She steps out alone, dazed by allotted apartments thriving with morning life. Exchanging words of jazz, soup and sex interrupted. "Secret's out" She read the breakfast pastries on the city's subway. Thinking about how she'd rearrange herself if she were a doughnut. How she'd taste from waiting in the rain for 3 hours. "Expectation is important" Back on that old mattress, she clotted her blood with Sudocrem. Stenched the toilet with piss brighter than that morning's sun. Sexless. "Oh well."
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DAUGHTER
Her perfume floats through the leathery air, long enough to recognise the rose. Or the tulip. Or the lily. The petals that remind him of church on Sundays urged by his mother or those tedious pickups to his sister’s ballet class. A youthful scent to persuade his youthful heart. I can see her intentions, despite my tendency to hesitate towards my instincts. He’d probably laugh it off. ⃰ By nine thirty we were ready to go. Mum had everything packed into the car. George, myself complete with a water bottle, a packed lunch each and of course, my favourite ‘Life of Mammals’ book by David Attenborough, which I’m glued to at the moment. When everything was ready in the car, Dad would switch off the television, come downstairs, lock up the house front and back, and take the wheel. Mum would wave us goodbye from the porch. The weekend! A long two hours' drive down to Marwell Zoo on Saturday. The pleasures of ‘greenery’ and ‘guests’ in between Dad assured us. We are so fortunate! Wait a second... guests? Both George and I exchanged confused looks as we pulled into the drive of a dishevelled bungalow. “Err Dad... Why have we stopped here?” George questioned. Dad fiddled with his mobile and continued to remain silent with his elbow propped onto the window. “DAD!” George roared. “Sorry what did you say mate? Where are we? Oh, we are just picking up a friend of mine,” he replied. “But you don’t have any friends.” George giggled. “What friend?” I enquired. “My friend, Zoskia”
14 “Why? Are we dropping her off somewhere?” I asked. “No, she’s coming with us, I thought it would nice.” Dad replied. “WHAT? You’ve invited your friend Zoonkiiia to come to the zoo with us?” George spat. “Yes, I thought it would be a nice thing to do. She’s very nice I’m sure you’ll get along with her,” Dad argued, his tone crackled with a little sense of unease. “Why is she coming with us today?” I asked. “I just said… I thought it would be nice.” Dad grunted, arched in his seat. “Say the word nice more.” George sneered. The three of us darted our heads right as we heard a front door slam shut. There she was, all five foot eleven of her. A gust of wind blew her straightened hair forwards, she stopped for a second to quickly flatten her hair back down. The ends remaining perfectly composed, sitting above her nipples until she got to the car door. Dad was gazing through the window which displayed her slim torso covered in a cream fine-knitted jumper accentuating her perky breasts. “I’ll take that” Dad reached for her handbag and swung it onto the middle seat between me and George. As she slinked in the car, we could hear the jangles of the many silver bracelets which cascaded down her arm. Her rings clinked. “Oh. Thank you” She sighed, propping the front mirror down to check her makeup. As I watched her prod her bottom lip and wipe the dots of mascara away that had splattered below her eye, the reflection of her eyes caught mine. She braced a smile at me; flashing her white teeth. George pulled out a packet of Haribos from his bag. The noise of the packet alerted Dad of course, fat pig.
15 “Oi mate chuck a few of ‘em over here.” George handed him the packet which was flung onto the dashboard. Dad pierced his bulbous fingers into the packet and took out two cherry vanilla rings. “Want one?” Dad turned to Zoskia. “No no I’m fine thanks” she giggled. Not sure what was funny. “C’moooon you know you want one.” Dad insisted, chewing on the first ring. “Oh, go on then.” He extended his arm towards her mouth and stuck the sweet between her lips. He paused for a second; the sunlight dappled on his eyelids as he batted his lashes. The sweet stayed squashed between her lips as she stared right back. His pupils fluctuated. Panting like a Cheetah about to pounce on its prey. A cheetah. I quickly grab my book, my fingers quickening as I flick through the pages. Ah found it. “Cheetahs are diurnal meaning they are active during the daytime. In the bold light of day they hunt, so easily observed. Adult males are typically gregarious. Most males require coalitions, a companion or if not a life that ensures encounters with a greater number of females. They are territorial, gallant and exhibit pronounced marking behaviour. This marking behaviour exists usually near mounds, trees and common tracks.” A gush of adrenaline boiled in my veins as I seethed behind the pages of my book. ‘Thank you David’ I mutter as I stare numbly at Dad and Zoskia longing to get away from the sight in front of me. Her perfume broke through the leathery air, long enough for me to recognise the rose. It’s definitely a rose.
16 The petals that would have particularly reminded Dad of church on Sundays, or those pickups to my ballet class every Monday evening. A youthful scent‌ For Dad’s old, tired heart?
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THE OTHER WOMAN I would love to be a man. Then I could hop from bed to bed, from woman to woman without a spring of emotion in my body, cruising around effortlessly picking up my latest fix. I can feel his eyes piercing me as I sit upright in the car. I peer across and open my mouth to speak. No words are able to come out. I stare into his dark eyes feeling the tension creep up the back of my neck and whispering into my ear. Oh but what big eyes he has, and oh what a beautiful tanned complexion. His hairy knuckles fixed onto the wheel, his big hands grip tighter as he veers across the motorway lanes. The August sun pokes its way through the window enhancing his olive skin and the shine of his jet-black hair. I feel glued to my seat. “Jack, I want to talk to you about something” I stammered. He tilted his head towards me, his eyes fixated on me like an old dog. I could feel his icy breath float towards me. He was too close. “Look Dad, look at that car” said George. I could see this had caught Jack’s attention, he loved cars. Yet there was an unease about this sighting as the shiny classic car drove steadily ahead of us. “What is the matter?” I ask Jack anxiously. “Nothing just looked like my boss’s car” Jack replied, “the guy looked all fat and greasy” He had been on bad terms with his boss ever since being made redundant. Since then I had watched him fall and slowly crumble. His job was what had made him cunning and alive. I was so proud of being attached to a successful man, for there’s nothing sexier than ambition and drive is there?
18 “He looks like a figurehead mate, so what he’s riding by in his shiny new Mercedes” Jack said sharply to his son. “Alright Dad I was just noticing the car, not the guy in it” George gushed. “Okay mate well could you not draw attention to things please whilst I’m driving.” Jack quarrelled. I felt guilt rise over my heart and reach out to drown my eyeballs. They felt heavy, as salty tears began to flood down my cheeks. I faced out of my window so no one could see me. Part of the reason I am still here is because I feel bad for Jack. He says I'm all he's got to live for. That my three calls a day are what he needs now he is getting older. He says he feels trapped by daily life, daily routine and that I’m the only one who's allowed him to feel free again. He’s manipulative, I know. Suppose his children suspect something? Suppose they tell their mother- his wife? I felt an ooze of guilt trickle through my lungs, my heart pulsing faster to rid itself from the pain. ‘I can’t do this’ I think to myself. ‘This is wrong.’ So I think to myself again, oh, i'd love to be a man. With my age and charm I could control any young girl I can get. Chewing them up and spitting them out, having them dangle onto that last string of hope before the almighty boot as I kick them out after my morning feast. I could press my Guinness soaked lips onto their soft flesh after I stumble home from an evening out demanding the girl for ‘Just one blow.’ I could exercise the dash and dart of a one night stand without any emotional attachment. I’d stroll down the front with the lads, I start a kafuffle and jab that one innocent prick with a broken glass watching his blood spray over the pub walls.
19 I’d be able to roam around the joint and whistle at any innocent babe I find, demanding their number. And if they say no, spit sexist slurs at them, backed up by my mates. I can get away with all this… with just my Johnny tool to keep me out of harm’s way. To dip my wick into any breathing darling, leaving them just an empty screaming hole. I sat there still, not being able to breathe a word trying to figure out if I feel sheltered or suffocated. I saw, in the wing mirror, the living image of a wholesome family. His children drifting off to sleep in the back, their sticklike limbs sprawled out. I shielded my face with my hands, hiding the beaming sun from my eyes, protecting the last repository of my modesty. I crossed my legs, noticing the rare movement of his lips smirking at me. His smile only appears in anticipation; which he deems the greatest part of pleasure. I began to shudder at this strange arousal of love. My legs flourished in goosebumps, the white flesh on them which had most in common with an armful of lilies. White lilies that stain, for I stained their car like I stained their lives. All I could do now was to sit tight and hope I don't stain myself.
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THANK
YOU
I shouted, ‘Daddy, Daddy you’ve broken my heart.’ The line went dead, And my world fell apart. In the mouth of the Japanese tongue, my heart caught on a wire snare. Senseless, senseless, how do you dare. ‘Let me give you statistics,’ Methotrexate and Binovum, Your potion reduced, you sounded so dumb. You threatened me, scared ‘I’ll pull the trigger,' my life’s in your hands now.’ Which made you seem bigger. But they pulled me out the sack, one with green eyes, one with brown. And stuck me together, ‘try not to feel down.’ The fucks they give, the plates and the mugs. Are why I dodged this blow, and am still capable to love.
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ARTWORK BY SOPHIA GEORGHIOU
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