The Composition
Mimi Galt
THE CONTENT
We are out in public in the home // Yona places everything around the attic and below she doesn’t let down a ladder we watch water and light wondering what the air mattress would feel like can we know what it could take what it would support without being up there to test it out we can’t know and trying feels forbidden even here but the lamps are warm and in reach and unreachable performance artists splash and dance in the bath spilling surges of contents onto the concrete floor in a watery mess the space is undressed almost empty and vibrating with energy we crowd around the bath like a fire pit then the lowered lamp invites us to be seated // I am not here to shop by the way just here to look Yona’s not trying to sell us anything but she has a lot to show so don’t worry things will come through soon or later on as they like to look around I’ll get back to you // The lamp descends like a UFO and lands on this indoor patio [1] we will entertain it like excellent hosts offer memories across the metal we have so many affordable items just take this plant-ball sub for example made from soy and tastes great with sauce in a bun washed down with a cup of fizzy lingonberry have you ever tried it [2] there’s plenty to see to hear and show our new friends time to stroll and float about the room you can touch everything but don’t linger if the lights and concrete make you dizzy feel free to lie down on a comfortable bed just please don’t fall asleep you will awaken completely acclimatised [3] if you did fall asleep how high up were you and how real did it feel [4] and if you had to leave because the labyrinth was drinking you into disappearance did your ticket work at the boom gate or did you get lost in the parking complex and never make it out [5] Yona might tell you the time but she is performing for galvanised metal sheets and working with sound artists to play to her steel rod sculptures with a cello bow so you may have to wait did the dog howl at the noise did the metal sing of industry [6] no they feel high as the moon don’t they could we climb to them or is it really forbidden and how is your head I haven’t forgotten [7] where to start you just follow the yellow brick road [8] the solid colours pop against the white walls grey floors [9] Yona might remove the piercings from our ears and turn their stainless hoops into works of winding steel [10] or a steering wheel remember to head check your sides here and your rear view too [11] we can wander around like we’ve forgotten something on the first turn then go again there are hidden tunnels behind the dens just look between the shower and the door see [12] there are options everywhere so tell me would you like to sit in the bath and let the water pour and rise around your skin if so I would go for the BROGRUND [13] a single-spray head with a silver wrist that drips gently [14] the bath is tepid but clean you can dip in and see how you go [15] are you growing embarrassed or tired of the fluorescence or is the light finally dimming [16] you can spin through this space if you want or find a strong arm to launch you into the air there [17] Yona bends these materials like warmed-up limbs [18] have you settled in I’m just wondering if you would like something please let me know make yourself at home it might not belong to anyone [19] and if you're hungry we have mash and peas and jelly and cheesecake [20] assembling is no problem we’re here all day never left this place never closes someone would let us know if we overstayed [21] so let’s touch what we’re allowed and let time rest [22] no wake do you hear the ancient whispers of the Roman Carpathians? The last remaining old-growth forest of Europe is here with us now [23] I’ll leave this here there’s no rush [24] up there does the green bench remember where it has been [25] and this too [26] Yona I get the feeling we don’t need to come up [27] should we find another way to connect [28] to accept [29] thinking of you [30].
THE CATALOGUE
Under the lamp we flex metacarpals like we’re getting our nails done. The hot-orange paint is almost the same as those acrylics I got in Zona Franca. The owner filed until it hurt [nerves sizzling under the UV]. We sit on the metal chairs like we’re out on the patio dining alfresco.
In the downstairs restaurant [up the escalator], I’m deep in a plant-ball sub with ketchup, enjoying a sparkling lingonberry on the side. Scandi spa music, the seasoned beeps and tray-slides of people checking out.
It’s okay to feel overwhelmed; adjustment will happen. Close your eyes, let it pool around your ankles.
We look up at the bed suspended on silver poles; it’s like the loft bunk we wanted from the catalogue. You had one; so advanced [imagine that solo-suspended sleep].
I get my free foaming pump of lingonberry refill and walk towards the exit, back down the escalator and up the ramp [to the surface].
Yona is a classically trained cellist.
We used to play in the hedge; you would ask for hardware materials every birthday and build trapdoors and hatches. One day after school [or was it the weekend], we built forts in the sky of your wardrobe and never came down.
The arrows on the floor tell our feet where to go, guiding us through the marketplace maze [but there are always other ways to get places].
We climbed the drawers to the top shelf and halved the quarters [one blue, one green]. We collected colour and worked until the world glowed.
Has the metal gone through your skin yet?
This mirror is like the one by my apartment that stops you from having a head-on collision [the kind at bus stops]—protruding paperweights waiting for violence.
I’ve been here ten [or so] times.
The shower is a station of decompression and diffusion. Here, three heads whisper pitter-patter—I reach out and watch the recycled water trickle along my fingertips.
If our hot-water system could handle it, I would shower on loop for hours [maybe never come out].
My old shower is suspended over the bath—after a while you need to sit down and let things collect.
If our bodies could handle it, we would lay beneath the rain for hours.
The bar we passed near the entrance [and later returned to], the one that moves through glass and hugs the tree, reminds me of G.
Could we indulge the scaffolding?
The hedge is behind a fence I might never visit again.
Plenty of beds; come pull up a tray.
You made me feel at home in your life.
There is no rush here.
Imagine their old lives.
I’m so sorry.
Memory bleeds and metal cauterises.
I miss you, friend.
I don’t know if I can climb up to your loft bed.
I bought you flowers for your birthday but—
You didn’t let down a ladder.
We’re still eight years old in that wardrobe—we’re still up there.
Mimi Galt (she/they) is an emerging creative writer and artist living on Wurundjeri country and studying a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing. They write through modes of poetry and fragmented prose, often blending these into hybrid forms. Their work explores themes of familial relationships, nature, friendship, grief, connection and the home. Mimi is interested in symmetrical structures and the sonic qualities of poetry, particularly the sensations of assonance and alliteration. Her poetry was recently shown with iSquared Gallery as part of their ‘Seeing Camp’ exhibition. Mimi also enjoys painting, watching animals in nature and making crispy tofu.