we have a story for you
no.3 - a bi-weekly series of stories we've published
as we’re slowly reading through all of the submissions for issue 007, we bring you another story from the bog bodies archive! we’re delighted to have another platform for our contributors’ work - incredible wide-ranging stories from everywhere that need to be heard. we genuinely love these pieces and can’t wait for you to read them too! here is the third of the series, from mnemotope issue 003. it was written by iseult ní aodhagáin after receiving a text saying the following: “slept strange! i dreamt i went onto your second account and you had a new poem called "it's just joe" and it was about a guy called joe but somehow it was super profound”.
Its Just Joe (Written Für Elise) by Iseult Ní Aodhagáin
The woman who lived here before me never stopped paying for the milkman to come. I'm sure I could rectify this but I never do. Instead I asked his name as though we would form a kind of friendship but we're still nothing more than acquainted.
I've tried also to convince myself I find him handsome but I don't. He's just Joe. Nice Joe. The milkman.
My house is full of ghosts!
My house is full of nothing.
My house is full of me, and I of ghosts.
I paint my nails. I open the windows. I paint my jeans with nail polish and pretend not to wish I hadn't.
I rifle through my diaries and pretend not to wish I hadn't. The phone rings twice and stops. The thought comes twice, then stops.
I dress up as myself and I do what I would do. I sit myself across from me at the table and marvel at her. We both get bored and sit on the sofa. I make sure we hold hands.
I watch a movie and I cry. I take the emotion off of my shoulders and I make it into a coat. I put it right back on. I feel like I would feel. I do as I would do, I do what I just did.
I leave aside an hour for pretending before bed.
There are footsteps outside in the morning. I thought maybe it was you or my dead grandmother or a faceless man with really good news but it was just Joe.
I wish I were just Joe but it seems I have a habit of being so many things. I am many reflections of so many things. I would lean out the window here, so I do.
I have caught a cold.
see you next time!
