I am a northern. I sit at the edge. I
love watching the people walk by. I saw a girl in a black overcoat, black
jeans, black boots. All black. I liked that. She screamed of youth. But her
eyes were old age. She stopped to look at me once while smoking a cigarette. It
wasn't my best day. My branches were creaking. My branches were failing. I
tried to stand straight but the wind failed me. Again. This motherfuckin
northern wind. I sat as only I could sit. I fluttered my leaves.
She was intrigued by my broken posture. I
sat before her. She stood before me. I thought she should come back in summer.
See me in my glory. She would be wearing a flowing summer dress and sandals. I
thought she should see me at my best. I thought. I thought. I kept thinking.
She just stared. She was intrigued. Humbled by my stature. I thought so
anyway.
She rocked back and forth like I rocked
back and forth. We are one and the same. Her eyelashes were long and fluttered
like my leaves. Like my best leaves.
Then she started to dance. An effortless
dance. So beautiful and easy. Swaying her hips with the wind. With a command of
the seasons. With a passion of nature. She understood what I could not
understand. The wind. The motherfucking wind.
Now I sit as still as a fallen feather.
And the wind blows me every direction. I have been here 30 years. Sometimes she
comes back and strokes my bark. My glorious bark. I quiver then. Quiver of
wind. Quiver of emotion. Only she cannot see my soul. My soul is separate to
hers. I heard her whispers. Her voice was like a cello cry. It was like a
needle I cannot let go.
Heavy and still I stand. Lumbering
through the seasons. She does not believe me when in the winter. I am
bare and sparse and frankly rotten. She does not visit much anymore.
She does not visit much anymore. And I
wait until summer. My leaves will flutter brilliance. I am northern. I've got
that Northern soul. You better believe what you see. I've got that groove. Sometimes
the wind plays up and I can dance. Many people stand and watch as I glimmer in
the sweltering lollipop they call a sun. My leaves like a flamingos.
They watch me. The young girls watch me.
In their crafty glare. Oh they watch my posture like a peacock. I stand on the
ground. I have been standing for years. It feels like millennia. I have seen
them all. None like the girl in the black overcoat. So simple and
elegant.
Now I watch her in my sleep. Or what they
call sleep. When all is dead. Midnight she came and touched me. My overcoat.
I've got that northern soul don't you see. Girl in all black, what you see.
I've got style. I am unconquerable. I'll be here after she's gone.
She should sit with me. My northern soul.
We will say nothing and it will be everything. Those blades of grass. My heart
is nature. The wind is my mood. My roots go deep. I've got that northern soul.
We will say nothing. We will speak everything. All the languages under the sun.
I am northern. With that soul. With that style. She will see. All of them will
see. This is my last stand. All I do is stand. I have no words.
Aqeel Parvez writes and makes art. He lives in Leeds, UK. He is the author of the chapbook The Streetlights Are Beckoning Nirvana (Analog Submission Press). His work has been published by Horror Sleaze Trash, Back Patio Press, Sunday Night Bombers, Expat Press, 16 Pages Press & Sludge Lit. Find him on instagram @ap.writer & twitter @aqeelparvez
