THE SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK NOOS

I am split. I am hewn.

I am both solid and hollow. Light and dark. Coated and bare. All at once.

I am a blob of oil paint, roosting on a painter’s palette. I am being broken down by turpentine. Added to. Transformed into a color to be used as an accent shade, or perhaps for mysterious shadows in some grand masterpiece, or even minor work.

If I am blue, am I now grey?

Put on your hard hat. I’m about to hit the panic button.

I’m scared. My accent is slowly packing its alphabet into a haversack and plotting a course back to the mainland. And it’s leaving without me! And I never suspected a thing. I didn’t get advance warning. Not a blackmail note from cutout letters. Not even a text message on my phone. I had to take a trip back to Australia to learn the ugly truth.

I am losing it. I am losing my accent. I am losing myself.

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