Winter 2005

WINTER 2005

Joan Poulson SMELLING OF SEA-WATER They arrive at her door Friday evenings the quartet of women, play Beethoven or Bach the first violin as if her hair's on fire as if she's naked purple strapless gown draping tiny folds over a tight elastic slip. Sometimes her feet in flat black mules, subtly sparkly, tap a beat. Playing, they exchange quick glances - a nod, a smile, never stay later than eleven. a kiss on her cheek and they're gone the air in her wide white room left smelling of sea-water as if the tide had washed through as if for ninety minutes she had swum across the estuary of a broad dark river in wren-light shoes, flat and black, speckly as starling feathers Joan Poulson has had work commissioned by Arts Council Great Britain & B.B.C radio, held residencies in a psychiatric hospital (2 years plus), with a modern dance company, & written for a radio 'soap'. She also writes for children.

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