Fanny Mac








Fanny Mac

he doesn’t say much,
and his general demeanour
is that he is disinterested.
but one thing’s for sure.

our skipper, Andreas
has the most beautiful sealegs
that I’ve ever

from the knee down,
a sculpture of the calf.
tight – but not rigid.
waving perpetually with the sea.

but he is caught up
in his own head
because I’ve seen him laugh
at only two jokes.
maybe he does’t think they’re funny.

but this sailing business is no joke,
oh no, don’t laugh about this sailing business!
it’s serious shit!
it’s life or death!

now I’m ridiculing Andreas,
through my private notepad and pen.
I don’t know much about sailing.
I know he thinks we’re all affluent fools.

but the point is…
outside of whatever I feel for our skip,
his calves and feet will always be beautiful.
the way he carries himself.

his feet pat the ground
so lightly.
with so much finesse.
like a cat wandering on jagged rocks.

the colour of his heel
is that of the rest of his leg.
the whole way through.

it’s the way he uses his legs,
not necessarily their shape,
that reminds me of
someone I know.

the only person (probably) that I have
ever loved.
would tread, with his feet
the same effortlessness.

Andreas, I think
would look foreign
wearing a boot, a sandal,
a shoe.

he has shoes. I’ve seen them.
untouched like the islands we sail.
even when we arrive at port,
he won’t put them on.

the most beautiful thing about a person
is the way they use their gift.
otherwise – an inevitable emptiness.
I wouldn’t look twice at Andreas,
without his sealegs.

if I had met him on the mainland
I’d probably think
he was a dick.

Fanny Mac is an Australian freelance filmmaker and writer currently based in France. Her work is fixated by the fragility of logic.