Daniel Appleby is an autistic writer and poet currently residing in Cornwall. He has been published in Chaos & Grace: A Chapter House Anthology, Fantasy/Animation, Witch House, & others. Find him on Instagram at @danie_lappleby.

My Autism

Daniel Appleby

asks to go out for a walk,

rise out of the unmade

bed, keep those hands

to myself, and dot away.

The brain’s static has never

been this quiet. A motorway

of old days and premature

stone sleighs populate

my view. My, it’s you, from

last night, a voice body, beside

me. Your curly hair meets

your clearless ears, your glasses

encapsulates that esoteric

roundabout passion (I’m so

envious of) which creates

glitter. You walk alongside,

hand through mine: quiet rows

of cream-coloured huts, emerald

hills separating (us), the village

and the abused pagan body, all

the way to our graveyard.

I wasn’t expecting a kiss

(although one would be

nice), I’m simply appreciative

we can share this tender epoch,

rippling precious sounds across

the ocean. But you do kiss my

cheek (I apologise). It tingles like

Coca-Cola, the fur of an ochre cat,

texture of old skin, floral like a

barbed chrysanthemum, smooth as tar.

You lick the sky’s flakes curiously,

they trickle down the church windows.

Thin dust flies and mingles against dirt.

My condition is satisfied; washing is done.

The sun sits atop a bent brick chimney.

You make a crude remark, Sister, and we laugh

together, despite the quiet, impossible distance.

Page updated

Google Sites

Report abuse