tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60990974307457915202024-03-06T00:12:28.608-07:00Sparks of IlluminationLove is preeminent.Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-77660338862247884622013-04-25T16:28:00.000-06:002013-04-26T20:39:15.943-06:00The Hitchhiker's Love SongWe see each other all the time. He'd strap a polaroid camera around his neck, collect a picnic basket and me in the beat up old truck and we'd ride - hours of sunshine and starlight, laughing at the giddy polaroids gathering in the backseat. The AC pumped out an intoxicating blend of summertime and memory and we laughed more, drunk it in, heady as an October evening. The stereo was the sound of our heartbeats, ribboning forth like a kickdrum, eternal as the wind.<br />
<br />
We stopped often at first, doing nothing much - checking the headlights before it got dark, keeping time by the blinkers, taking laughing polaroids of the rest stops and state lines, of the two of us chewing sandwiches served from paper sacks. Lately, we've just driven and driven even though the farming towns and railroad tracks are forgotten before they're even seen. We ignore the exit signs now, ignore the restaurants and their gaudy paper napkins, just keep on driving.<br />
<br />
We could drive like this forever, you know.<br />
<br />
I like it when you drive better. It frees up my hands to ruffle your hair when the wind musses it and to grip the consul between us when the road turns or you start going very fast.<br />
<br />
I tease you about your grandfatherly driving, the <i>left-right-left-again</i> adage and driving slow being more than just a big laugh. But we laugh anyway, you and I.<br />
<br />
Our favorite time of day is just before the sun begins to set. In this golden light, everyone is beautiful and even our polaroids look simply lovely. Maybe it's the colorblindness you have that perceives the world in whites and greens, or my rose-colored sunglasses, but even we are beautiful at twilight.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, late at night, by moon or clouded skies, we pull the car to the side of the road and look at each other in the silvery grey light that follows the golden evening. Our eyes glow like nocturnal creatures and sometimes we grow afraid. Usually, we sit there in silence, our lungs heaving up the taste of memory and, still in silence, our fingers lace together like shoestrings.<br />
<br />
Neither one of us ever stops the radio, except in those silent times without laughter. We need the sound to show us that the car is alive and will keep on running. We learn to listen for our heartbeats on the radio, proving that we are alive too. Because if all the polaroids are any measure, we're going to be here a long while yet. The wind and road signs remind us that we have a very long way to go until we get to the Pacific Ocean or Mount McKinley or the Continental Divide or wherever this old truck is taking us. The silences will grow and the pictures will discolor. But as long as we're still here and not hitchhiking back alone, we know it's all going to be okay.<br />
<br />
"Okay," I say, and we miss another turn.<br />
<br />
"Okay," you reply, and crank up the radio, where our hearts beat in stereo sound.<br />
<br />
And we know that no matter what happens, if the radio is running, the car will keep on going, and everything will be golden.Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-42788235075308169682013-03-31T13:40:00.000-06:002013-03-31T13:40:39.273-06:00I wear a torn place on my sleeve<br />
<i>Behold, I will do something new,</i><br />
<i> Now it will spring forth;<br /> Will you not be aware of it?<br /> I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,<br /> Rivers in the desert.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation...</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>I wear a torn place on my sleeve.</i><br />
<i>It isn't as simple as that.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness.<br />
<br />
Even so, it is well with my soul.<br />
<br />
Behold, a new thing comes like a dove.<br />
<br />
The nails in the door glimmer with light and my head is light.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
I stop.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I start.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I am back to fishing. Fishing to forget.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I have bit my nails to the quick.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
He says to be a shepherd.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I will feed his sheep forever.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Then you do not hate me?</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Let us love and sing and wonder.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I grow excited again. </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
There is no because. </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Just a go.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
a do.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
a believe.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
a love.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Yes, I am excited.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The nails drop to the ground.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Surely this man was the son of God!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And the rain begins.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I do not care what the gardener has to say.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I am weeping. And I do not wish to be told to go.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He is speaking and I do not want to listen.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why? Because they have taken my Lord from me. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There are lilies and sand.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I loved him. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He says my name. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I am altogether with him and my hands find his, the places the nails pierced</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He says My God and Your God.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Never again will demons torment me.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Like a lamb</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
He was silent</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Like a child</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
He did not weep</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I am ashamed</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I nail the door shut</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I weep for him and </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
wash my hands</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Tell me you love me</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Take me back to the start</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>It's not as simple as that.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>You're a bad person.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>You deserve your lot.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Don't bite the hand that feeds you</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>rrrip</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
TODAY YOU WILL BE WITH ME IN PARADISE</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>amen and amen</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>i have calmed and quieted my soul</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>indeed, this is a new thing</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The nails fall broken</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Love is always a new thing.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We do not understand.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
show</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
us</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
your</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
grace</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We believe</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
in the name of Love</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
our Father </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
who art in heaven</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
We believe</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
in It is finished</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
in the water</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and the blood</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We believe in Joseph's wasted tomb</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We believe in John's death</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We believe in Peter's life</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We believe in Mary's disgrace</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And Pontius Pilate's downfall</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We believe in the faith of a thief</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Our sleeves are torn</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Our hearts are whole</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It is as simple as that.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<i><br /></i><i style="font-size: x-small;">(Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's </i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Henry and June</span><i style="font-size: x-small;">, and W.S. Merwin's </i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The Nails</span><i style="font-size: x-small;"> provide the epigraph.)</i>Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-65855224609072883892013-03-29T14:09:00.000-06:002013-03-29T14:12:59.715-06:00I wear a torn place on my sleeve || A thief<i>Behold, I will do something new,</i><br />
<i> Now it will spring forth;<br /> Will you not be aware of it?<br /> I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,<br /> Rivers in the desert.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation...</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>I wear a torn place on my sleeve.</i><br />
<i>It isn't as simple as that.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><u>A thief</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
rip<br />
<br />
rrrrrip<br />
<br />
breath<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
blood<br />
<br />
in<br />
<br />
my<br />
<br />
mouth<br />
<br />
in my hands<br />
<br />
nails<br />
<br />
in my hands<br />
<br />
darkpainbloodblackingoutheartbeat<br />
<br />
rip<br />
<br />
rrrrrip<br />
<br />
breath<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
i am not afraid to die<br />
<br />
just let me die now<br />
<br />
throw me in an unmarked grave like the rest<br />
<br />
rest<br />
<br />
i need rest<br />
<br />
no one will remember my name<br />
<br />
to be honest, i'm glad. i'm not a good person<br />
<br />
blacking out again<br />
<br />
rip<br />
<br />
rrrrrip<br />
<br />
breath<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
memory and other things i don't need<br />
<br />
sound and other things i don't want<br />
<br />
beside me another forgotten<br />
<br />
forgetful<br />
<br />
what am i called again?<br />
<br />
a thief?<br />
<br />
a murderer?<br />
<br />
a man?<br />
<br />
there's another one beside me, wetting<br />
<br />
me with his<br />
<br />
black black black no air<br />
<br />
rip<br />
<br />
rrrrrip<br />
<br />
breath<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
words<br />
<br />
words<br />
<br />
i have no use for words<br />
<br />
why are you speaking<br />
<br />
you foolish<br />
<br />
what do they call you?<br />
<br />
i don't even remember my name<br />
<br />
let alone who you are<br />
<br />
ogodogodogod letmedienowpleaseletmedie<br />
<br />
rip<br />
<br />
rrrrrip<br />
<br />
breath<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
you are a fool<br />
<br />
my brother<br />
<br />
you are a fool<br />
<br />
do you remember what you did to end up here?<br />
<br />
i don't.<br />
<br />
yes i do.<br />
<br />
i can see the faces<br />
<br />
don't you remember too, my brother?<br />
<br />
and the one<br />
<br />
the one in the center center center i can't<br />
<br />
rip<br />
<br />
rrrrrip<br />
<br />
breath<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
i ask nothing of you<br />
<br />
i have nothing i can ask you for<br />
<br />
you who chose this<br />
<br />
bloodbreathsourwineburningbloodbloodblood<br />
<br />
i did not choose it<br />
<br />
i do not regret it<br />
<br />
what else could have been done me?<br />
<br />
i would bow before you<br />
<br />
but all i can do is struggle against these<br />
<br />
nailsnailsnails<br />
<br />
to say<br />
<br />
rip<br />
<br />
rrrrrip<br />
<br />
breath<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
o LORD<br />
<br />
remember me<br />
<br />
when YOU<br />
<br />
enter<br />
<br />
YOUR<br />
<br />
KINGDOM<br />
<br />
for i will never see you again<br />
<br />
but you will judge my soul<br />
<br />
stretching up trying to<br />
<br />
breatheagainstnails<br />
<br />
will i ever<br />
<br />
see<br />
<br />
you<br />
<br />
again<br />
<br />
.<br />
.<br />
.<br />
<br />
out<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Paradise finds its existence.</i><br />
<i>(to be continued)</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i style="font-size: x-small;">(Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's </i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Henry and June</span><i style="font-size: x-small;">, and W.S. Merwin's </i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The Nails</span><i style="font-size: x-small;"> provide the epigraph.)</i>Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-44901131727309151902013-03-28T15:33:00.000-06:002013-03-28T15:33:12.018-06:00I wear a torn place on my sleeve || Pontius<br />
<br />
<i>Behold, I will do something new,<br /> Now it will spring forth;<br /> Will you not be aware of it?<br /> I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,<br /> Rivers in the desert.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation...</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>I wear a torn place on my sleeve.</i><br />
<i>It isn't as simple as that.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<u>Pontius</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
The violins are a sweet song, and I like them much better than the cries of the dying and the ugly sound of a mob.<br />
<br />
I like to think of myself as a gentleman. I'm not a bad man, not at all. I pay my taxes. Have a pleasant wife and a decent family. I do my job without deviation or bribery. I'm a servant of the people. Everything a governor should be. I'm not corrupt, not violent, just a genuinely good person.<br />
<br />
So why do I sit here, cleaning blood out of my nails and pretending I can't see the way my hands are shaking?<br />
<br />
My hands are clean. I have washed them many times.<br />
<br />
But I can't escape the smell of blood. It's in my hair, in my hands, in the throats of the natives as they shout for it in the veins of the man who I am <i>not</i> responsible for, the one whose blood is running in rivers in Jerusalem.<br />
<br />
He is not my responsibility. He is not my fault.<br />
<br />
I stand up, thinking about going home. It's late, I think. My wife will be waiting up for me. It's long overdue for me to be headed home. And then I sit back down, feeling the olive trees around me and the weight of the world tipping dangerously. No. I can't go home. Not like this.<br />
<br />
All of them shouted my name. Coupled it to things that I was afraid of. They say they know what they are doing.<br />
<br />
No one knows the price of blood on your hands.<br />
<br />
I don't allow myself to think about the one they call the king of the Jews.<br />
<br />
He is not my responsibility.<br />
<br />
If they had not brought up Caesar -<br />
<br />
But they did. It doesn't really matter - I straighten and run my hands over the nails in the gate - I am a servant of the people. I will do as they ask.<br />
<br />
My stomach churns. Somewhere, a murderer is laughing at his good fortune and getting drunk in celebration. Not that far away - I tell myself I can not hear the screams and smell the blood - there is a man on a hill who is innocent. I feel sick.<br />
<br />
He is not my fault.<br />
<br />
I never could get the hang of Passover. So many Jews. Underfoot. Smelling of religion and subversiveness and mumbling frustration. I thought at first he was one of them. Just another Zealot calling for Roman blood.<br />
<br />
He calls for his own blood.<br />
<br />
He is innocent. I can not get past that.<br />
<br />
I am all that a governor should be. I listened to my people.<br />
<br />
So why do I stand, scrubbing at my hands as if they will never truly be clean, which, I think, they never will be?<br />
<br />
Strange. I wash my hands and feel more dirty than before.<br />
<br />
My wife has been crying her eyes out. She will say she knew it. She did. She was right.<br />
<br />
No! I did what was right!<br />
<br />
I can not get him out of my head. The way his tears were blood and his blood was water and the water that pours from the fountain is all blood too. I tell myself he is a criminal. I tell myself that the Jews want it this way. I tell myself that the lash in my hand was the scourge of justice.<br />
<br />
I ignore the women - I refuse to give them names - who loved him most. His followers, who, with inked in lines on their bitter faces and frightened chewing-of-lips, cried their quiet tears.<br />
<br />
The man they call the king called this love.<br />
<br />
Love! Is this what you meant, you ignorant prophet?<br />
<br />
Why can't I stop thinking of him? This is not the first death sentence I've given.<br />
<br />
My stomach turns again.<br />
<br />
He is not my responsibility. He is not my fault.<br />
<br />
I wash my hands of you, you foolish martyr!<br />
<br />
I look at my reddened nails and my heart seizes.<br />
<br />
I will never be rid of him.<br />
<br />
I know this now.<br />
<br />
He will never really leave any of us, will he?<br />
<br />
His silence is haunting. As deep as the ocean. Mysterious as death.<br />
<br />
Or mysterious as love. I can not reconcile what I know and what the king said.<br />
<br />
I feel the tug of life and of love in my stomach.<br />
<br />
My hands shake.<br />
<br />
He is not my responsibility.<br />
<br />
He is<br />
<br />
not<br />
<br />
my<br />
<br />
fault.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Love is irreconcilable.</i><br />
<i>(to be continued)</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i style="font-size: x-small;">(Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's </i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Henry and June</span><i style="font-size: x-small;">, and W.S. Merwin's </i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The Nails</span><i style="font-size: x-small;"> provide the epigraph.)</i>Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-71706549420901559482013-03-27T09:37:00.000-06:002013-03-27T09:37:28.099-06:00I wear a torn place on my sleeve || Mary<br />
<i>Behold, I will do something new,<br /> Now it will spring forth;<br /> Will you not be aware of it?<br /> I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,<br /> Rivers in the desert.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation...</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>I wear a torn place on my sleeve.</i><br />
<i>It isn't as simple as that.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<u>Mary</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
My mouth tastes as bitter as nails. I could swear that when I saw his blood, it was mine too. My skin all over hurts. I'm quivering. I vomit up fear and shake more.<br />
<br />
This is no place for a lady.<br />
<br />
I am no lady, though, everyone knows that.<br />
<br />
I can't stay here.<br />
<br />
I run.<br />
<br />
Until my feet are sore and bleeding and I'm beneath a palm tree somewhere far away and I don't really care what they think of me because, really, did they expect me to watch him die?<br />
<br />
I know it shouldn't smell like blood here. Why does it?<br />
<br />
I'm still shaking.<br />
<br />
He won't die. He can't. He's like Elijah, my Lord. He is like Enoch. He will be taken to heaven in glory, I tell myself. But I can't shake the image of him, if indeed that was him, covered in blood and flayed skin, holding his insides in and carrying the burden of it all on his shoulders. Nails all in him.<br />
<br />
He did warn us, I think. But never like this. Never did I picture it going like this.<br />
<br />
My whole life is wrapped up in him. I don't know what I'd do without him.<br />
<br />
It's with a sinking feeling that I gag and ask myself what this means. I just really don't know. I don't know anyone like him, my Lord.<br />
<br />
What is really a marvel is the fact that it's been just a few years. I can still remember the days before my Lord. I envy, to think of it, the girls who will come after me and know him forever. Or something like forever. He's gone now, I try to tell myself.<br />
<br />
The smell of sulfur always and the momentary appeasement of seven inner demons brought about by doing what they wanted, all the while sleeping in trees and by rocks and in homes I did not know. Blankly, I think that I was taken advantage of a lot, by the men and by the demons, but I really don't think I was. I invited it. I wanted it. But once it happened, I really wanted to take it all back.<br />
<br />
He didn't mind the way I screamed. The thing I had become. I am not yet at a place where I can think about the seven demons and the way I was without crying. Maybe I never will.<br />
<br />
Oh, who cares. Today I have a right to cry.<br />
<br />
I have cried a lot in the past week. I think usually I'd be ashamed of this. But I've known what the others haven't, that this Passover is his death wish. I don't know what in me knew, but I've been mourning his death for days. Only now, when he is actually - probably, I say, not actually but probably - dead I can't accept it.<br />
<br />
Maybe this is why I anointed him for burial on Sunday. I couldn't have done it today.<br />
<br />
There's a nail on the tree trunk sticking out and my hand catches on it and bleeds.<br />
<br />
I'm all alone now. I smell sulfur once again and I start to shake. I was alone before. I can do it again.<br />
<br />
No. I really can't.<br />
<br />
Anyone else, I'd say I'd fallen in love. But I know that's not what it is.<br />
<br />
Is it fear that he's gone?<br />
<br />
I watch the blood pool in my hand.<br />
<br />
I don't know what love is.<br />
<br />
I've had so many men in my life. It would be easy to write this one off as a particularly bad choice. Sorry, everyone, I picked a crazy blasphemer. Oops.<br />
<br />
But lies taste like sulfur and I can't abide sulfur.<br />
<br />
I gag.<br />
<br />
I don't know how to love him.<br />
<br />
Blood and dirt and vomit.<br />
<br />
That's just it, isn't it? I do know what love is. It's him. But it is new. Newer than the blood sun rising up.<br />
<br />
God! Give me back the demons and let him go!<br />
<br />
I don't know<br />
<br />
how<br />
<br />
help<br />
<br />
me<br />
<br />
I've fallen<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
I<br />
<br />
can't<br />
<br />
find<br />
<br />
my<br />
<br />
way<br />
<br />
back<br />
<br />
he's a man, right?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>There's more to him.</i><br />
<i>(to be continued)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i style="font-size: x-small;">(Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's </i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Henry and June</span><i style="font-size: x-small;">, and W.S. Merwin's </i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The Nails</span><i style="font-size: x-small;"> provide the epigraph.)</i><br />
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-54039299993672935092013-03-26T22:51:00.000-06:002013-03-26T22:51:19.481-06:00I wear a torn place on my sleeve || Peter<br />
<i>Behold, I will do something new,<br /> Now it will spring forth;<br /> Will you not be aware of it?<br /> I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,<br /> Rivers in the desert.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation...</i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>I wear a torn place on my sleeve.</i><br />
<i>It isn't as simple as that.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<u>Peter</u><br />
<br />
<br />
Never have I hated roosters more than right now.<br />
<br />
I know it's not right for me to blame it. But I choose to blame everything. Everything and everyone. And very much myself.<br />
<br />
I think, Simon. Really. You couldn't get your act together by the third time?<br />
<br />
I reply, No, I'm an idiot. What do you expect?<br />
<br />
As I stare at the nails hammered into the gate, the gate to a garden which I would like to forget about, I gloomily recall other idiotic moments. There are too many of them. More since I met the Teacher.<br />
<br />
The time I got all excited about walking on water and nearly drowned because I was faithless. Not my best moment. Me, faithless in front of the whole group. No, not my proudest moment in the least.<br />
<br />
So many times I shouted out some stupid answer because it was just burning at my throat to be said and then I'd get this look from him or from them that was clearly saying, Simon. Stick to fishing. You don't know anything.<br />
<br />
Bitterly, with darkness laughing against my cheeks, I realize it's true.<br />
<br />
Three times!<br />
<br />
There is a stony darkness in me that that is burning my belly. I think of the Teacher, who is really the only person who ever believed I could do something right. The darkness is clawing its way up my jaw. I feel my face tighten and burn. I refuse to let myself believe that he is dead.<br />
<br />
But I know he is.<br />
<br />
I have a nail in my hands and I'm running it against the ground, absently writing. I think it's my name.<br />
<br />
I brush my hand over it. I am Simon now, because Peter would have held fast.<br />
<br />
I am not a rock. I'm as changeable as the wind and no amount of excitement can change that.<br />
<br />
Lying is so easy. You just let a little half-truth slip out, grin in bitter memory, and carry on.<br />
<br />
His name, paired with lies bitter as soap, is burned on my tongue. I'll never be able to look him in the face again.<br />
<br />
And I might not be able to, I realize and then my heart seizes up again.<br />
<br />
I don't love him, I tell myself. It's not like if Andrew had been carted off or something. Then I wouldn't deny it - he's my brother, of course not - but I would know what this tightness in my throat was called.<br />
<br />
I'm too ashamed to look into the sky and pray, God forgive me, I am an idiot.<br />
<br />
So I bow my chin against my chest and weep. The nails falls from my fingers and I am overcome by what I've done.<br />
<br />
Why do you believe in me, Lord?<br />
<br />
<i>Because you believe in me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My hands are dirty.<br />
<br />
I want to make it up to him somehow.<br />
<br />
And then I realize it. He is new. He is doing a new thing.<br />
<br />
Oh take me back to the start<br />
<br />
I could not hear<br />
<br />
My ears have forgotten<br />
<br />
I miss<br />
<br />
I miss<br />
<br />
The dawn comes softly and I put the nail in the garden gate, which I remember well. He is greater than me I fail not, and all is well.<br />
<br />
<i>It's worth it.</i><br />
<i>To be continued</i><br />
<br />
<br />Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-63580463165970680132013-03-24T17:52:00.000-06:002013-03-24T20:29:57.940-06:00I wear a torn place on my sleeve || John<i>Behold, I will do something new,<br /> Now it will spring forth;<br /> Will you not be aware of it?<br /> I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,<br /> Rivers in the desert.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I wear a torn place on my sleeve.</i><br />
<i>It isn't as simple as that.</i><br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<u>John</u><br />
<br />
I weep a lot these days. They'd laugh if they could hear me say that, the men who travelled with me in the desert. "Really now, John?" They'd say, pounding nails for the tents into ground. "You, a weeping man? Where's the repent and fire business?"<br />
<br />
Or maybe not. They had been there too, the first time I really wept before men.<br />
<br />
My mother, when she was alive, would look at me with those sad brown eyes, turned golden by sun and by age and say, "John what is wrong?" I can't even count how many times she'd said that while I was growing up, because I did not weep. My mother was special that way. She always knew things. She saw things that others shut their eyes to, like how I never wept.<br />
<br />
I miss mother, I think, with tears in my eyes. My father too. I think of them often these days, now that I see.<br />
<br />
I remember being a much younger man and my father telling me about the child I was born to herald. He said love a lot, with his cloudy voice. "Father, I'm a man." I'd say. "Not some simpering magician, a prophet, Father. A prophet's passion must leave no room for silly love."<br />
<br />
He wept at that.<br />
<br />
For a long time, while I fought Herod among the lions in the desert, I told myself the same thing. I'd pound in the nails for my tent and say, "God is just."<br />
<br />
I met the child, you know. The one my father used to tell me about, the Christ. He came to me as I shouted and my heart grew full of fire as I stood in the river, wet with the Jordan and with teh sweat of righteous anger.<br />
<br />
Oh no, Lord. I am unworthy to even untie your sandals.<br />
<br />
I all of a sudden understood my parents in that moment. All of a sudden, my eyes were full of tears and I knew what was wrong with me when my mother asked. It was the same thing that my father had tried to ask me.<br />
<br />
What is love?<br />
<br />
Look how far I've come. I'm not sure if it is blood or tears running down my face. Far cry from the voice crying in the wilderness, I'm reduced to counting nails in the prison door, counting time by the shadows of the sun and times my enemy has asked me who I am now. What I am now.<br />
<br />
My insides are being eaten away and my enemy exults and what do I do? I weep.<br />
<br />
I weep for Herod and for the hungry fire of my enemy eating with pain at his soul.<br />
<br />
I weep for the girl who dances while she asks for my death as a game and the way that she will one day weep in bitterness because her childhood has been stolen in fear.<br />
<br />
I weep for my disciples, who laugh and preach and sing the psalms, but who will fall to pieces like a jar when I am gone. They just don't know. Please God, they don't know what they're doing.<br />
<br />
Mostly, I weep for the child. My father was right. Love isn't what I thought it was. What love is this? He is my friend.<br />
<br />
And I tremble as I think this.<br />
<br />
I know him.<br />
<br />
I weep.<br />
<br />
I am just a voice, Child. I am yours, save me.<br />
<br />
Somewhere, I think he weeps too, and there is glory in his tears.<br />
<br />
My enemy is trembling now. I can see the devouring fire in his belly and I choose to stand and laugh amidst my tears.<br />
<br />
This is called love, my enemy.<br />
<br />
A dove alights.<br />
<br />
I hear my Savior say, Thy strength indeed is small.<br />
<br />
My head, my head<br />
<br />
Tears fail not.<br />
<br />
A nail falls like a pin dropping<br />
<br />
And<br />
<br />
i<br />
<br />
with<br />
<br />
it<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Love is a new thing.</i><br />
<i>(to be continued)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>(Isaiah 43:19, Anais Nin's </i>Henry and June<i>, and W.S. Merwin's </i>The Nails<i> provide the epigraph.)</i></span>Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-214103911890761982013-03-01T18:39:00.001-07:002013-03-24T20:31:01.111-06:00I pour the questions down the drain [villanelle]<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">He says, never will I see the snow</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">He says, I fear not at all the rain</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">He says, I will not hide my heart below</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999; line-height: 1.4;">She, with burning eyes, will slow</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">The burdened virtuoso refrain</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">And says, In springtime, we will know</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">His scars, as bright as stars aglow,</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">Mourning, fall upon her face in pain</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">He says, I will not hide my heart below</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">The spring must come eternal slow</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">For she and him recall so plain </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">And says, in springtime we will know</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">The blood is rain to make them grow</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">The blood runs off against the grain</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">He says, I will not hide my heart below</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">He says, I hope for the answers to be no</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">She says, I pour the questions down the drain</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">He says, I will not hide my heart below</span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: #999999;">And says, In springtime, we will know</span></div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-36566307643730803712012-12-30T01:41:00.000-07:002013-03-24T23:10:49.348-06:00Pinkie PromiseThe Boy's eyes are grey. Did they used to be grey? Suddenly it's all-important to the Girl - were his eyes grey or is that something that changed in the ages apart?<br />
<br />
He blinks with that steadily unfocused rhythm and rubs his eyes. The Girl watches him, with her hands caught up in the softness of her skirt. They weren't grey before. She remembers now. They were green.<br />
<br />
"I missed you." She says to the now grey-eyed Boy who is still glaring off into the middle distance, not seeing her, not seeing their house or the little garden she made while he was away or the small dancing hills out past. His eyes are a hundred thousand miles away in a dug trench.<br />
<br />
See, everything's changed and everything's died. The Boy's died. Why she bothers to come and talk to him every day, why she says those silly stupid sweet things like I-missed-you and I'm-happy-to-see-you and I'm-here-for-you escapes her. Her Boy is gone. Maybe his Girl is gone too. One never can tell.<br />
<br />
He isn't listening even now. There's anger in his jaw. Her Boy is never angry, he wasn't before, before the trenches and the helmets and the rickety cots.<br />
<br />
<i>"If you'll be the Fairy Queen, I'll be the Fairy King." He said. They're children, winged by their imaginations and dressed in pearls and mermaid laughter. His little round face pokes out from under the bedsheet tent they've made. "Here. I'll make you a daisy crown." His little thick fingers twist a rope out of the air and add daisies made from his mind and places it on the Girl's head. His green eyes widen. "You look beautiful, Queen Fairy. There is magic in us tonight" </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
She's overcome with a sudden wave of missing. Loss and grief, not because he's dead, but because he's gone. Her Boy is gone. Her Boy, with his laughter and his kindness and his long fingers clasping her around her back when they hug hello - that Boy is gone and the big bad wolf has stolen his body to be given to hold a cruel man.<br />
<br />
She doesn't want to believe her Boy isn't in there somewhere. She takes his hands.<br />
<br />
<i>"Must you go, Boy?" She said. They're in a tent again, but this time it's a white gazebo tent, with warm summer air all in her hair and his green eyes. The grass beneath them as they sit smells of apples and earth. They're leaning against each other in that way that couples do, and her veil gets tangled up in his bow tie. "I know what happens to people who go away to war."</i><br />
<i>"All is war, Girl." he says gravely. "We are always at war. I just have to leave home to fight my monsters."</i><br />
<i>"They'll steal your soul, and then I'll never see you again." She confesses her fear.</i><br />
<i>"I will never leave you alone. You won't let me. And I won't let you. Pinkie promise, right?" They hook pinkies and sit in the grass with their pinkies hooked. "We belong together, you and me, Girl. We're the Fairy King and Queen. That's the magic. And nothing can change that."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Boy! Why did we grow up? Why did we leave behind the green earth to fight?<br />
<br />
<i>He did come home to her, too many moments later. She greeted him at the door, her green eyes all full of magic and delight. Her white veil catches on his medal of honor but not on his eyes. That's when she first sees his grey eyes and the pinched up way his lips are brought together. He doesn't see her. He's seeing the fighting. The death. The pain. There's no more mermaid laughter in him. </i><br />
<i>He is not her Fairy King any longer. He is a soldier, and he has forgotten the magic. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Boy, can you hear me?<br />
<br />
<i>It's been something like a hundred years of this, Girl saying stupid lovey things to Boy, wishing and waiting, while his mind does marching drills in his nightmares. It's hopeless, but I think the moment she acknowledges that, all the magic will fall apart and, like the Boy had said, all will be war.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The Girl's eyes are dark with tears. This is why she feared growing up, why she feared letting the Boy go away. She closes her eyes and wishes she was a little girl again playing fairies in the sheet tent. But of course she's not. She's all grown up and she's almost out of magic too.<br />
<br />
Her face is soft when she looks at the Boy. For the first time, she realizes how young he looks when he is afraid. Poor little thing. Trapped in a grown up nightmare all alone. Her breath hitches and she stretches out her fingers, all worn and thin now.<br />
<br />
"I never break a pinkie promise." She says softly, and her voice catches. She hooks her pinkie into his and shuts her eyes.<br />
<br />
Maybe there is magic in them yet.<br />
<br />
Maybe magic is just another word for love.<br />
<br />
Maybe the big bad wolf can't devour someone who gives everything in a pinkie promise.<br />
<br />
Bad dreams are no match for magic fairy kings and queens.<br />
<br />
The Boy's and Girl's eyes meet, and it is green.<br />
<br />
So the Boy was right after all. All is war, because we all want to stay children forever, but the world demands we all grow up. All is war, because the world wants to suck the magic out of our eyes and make us as grey as sand. All is war, because love is always worth fighting for, living for, dying for, saying silly things for, and promising far too much for. All is war, but we will win it. Green will always eat away the grey.<br />
<br />
Pinkie promise.Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-76013415039593276932012-12-19T14:35:00.001-07:002013-03-24T20:33:02.668-06:00Crying for Grey Hamelin<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Follow me, little children, and I will show you how to be free. Do you hear the sound of my wooden flute? It sings for you the song of love. It is a love song, darling. So follow me and I will teach you.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
My eyes shall guide you and my song shall lead you. You must not see the cave walls around us, hush-a-bye, little children. My flute enchants you, does it not, my children? Your hearts will be made free.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
That voice which cries in the mountains and among the desert streams, is not mine, my children (for mine you are now). Ignore that not-my-song, my loves, my ltitle ones. Your fathers can not hear you among the snow-filled caverns. You are mine now, and this is the song of freedom.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
The children awaken among the dragon's lair and cry for grey Hamelin. What have we done, they cry. What did we do to get here?</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
The piper smiles and lifts the flute to his lips once more. The children open their mouths to cry and cover their eyes, but the sweet sound of chains does bind them. Their eyes turn to the heavens and all of us join hands and fall into the paradise that we call Hell. See, it's dark and it's quiet here, without the scary snow and the dragon with the flute.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
One little child stands up and opens his eyes. His ears are bleeding and he turns from the piper and the open sky without the cave and he shakes his head. Slowly, slowly, then faster and faster and he sings.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
The song is not new, but it's his father's song, and the wind's song, and the laughter's song, and the song the piper was trying to remember. It is the child's song.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
It is the song of freedom. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
And the snow crumbles down.</div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-37217736731632412772012-11-07T09:12:00.000-07:002013-03-24T20:34:43.869-06:00like a girl in a red cloak<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
you have turned my mourning into dancing</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
and i left my sackcloth in the river</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
because i would rather wear a ballet slipper than </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
have ash on my forehead</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
and (ladies and gentlemen, step right up!)</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
i will not soil my hope with mourning</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
i see light</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
and my head is killing me</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
because the light will burn away</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
all the darkness in my eyes and wash the gas mask</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
from my mouth</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
i will dress myself in ballet slippers</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
and my heart will be more filled with joy</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
(the funny thing is, i am not really happy</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
sort of happy</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
but i am, like a girl in a red cloak, not afraid of the darkness</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
for i will hug the wolves and throw down my heart to </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
die to live)</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
because that is joy</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
i will not fear</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
i would rather dance</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
than twirl away my responsibilities</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
and forget the wolves in sadness</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
and draw wet sackcloth in my mind</div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-27935268310716649312012-10-26T20:26:00.000-06:002013-03-24T20:36:27.042-06:00<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Do not believe your heart<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />(It lies)<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />Trust not your eyes<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />(For you, sweet child, are blind)<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />The world crumbles like stale bread<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />And you are made of dust<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />Not wisdom<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />So do not weep<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />And do not mourn<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />Though the hearse drives over your boots<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />And your lover spits acid at you, saying,<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />You never loved me and I hate you for your falsehood<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />You must smile and soldier<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />You must be quite all right<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />Though everything be wrong and you<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />Forget everything in tears<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />Two things you can believe<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />The silent stars<br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;" />And Me.</span>Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-91403948576738611362012-10-14T17:17:00.000-06:002013-03-24T20:36:54.501-06:00Nobody's EyeI was born like a Cyclops<br />
My eye, overlarge and weepy,<br />
focuses and rolls<br />
and if I can't remember where<br />
to look too like a snake<br />
I when I forget change from<br />
Polyphemus to Medusa<br />
and my one eye will burn to stone<br />
And my hair will poison<br />
you with its fragrance<br />
Because I'm Nobody and Nobody<br />
remembers where the siren's song leads<br />
Maybe the man who built the dove's boat<br />
He was so full of faith and salt<br />
So by faith and salt and rainbows and a broken mirror<br />
My one eye opens<br />
And the serpents vomit up their applesauce<br />
And I see a great laughing<br />
Skyful star<br />
And all of a sudden<br />
I'm very meek weak hopeful<br />
That my eye will never open again<br />
And my heart will be all more like a<br />
NobodyEchoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-11478289838250924622012-10-01T18:01:00.001-06:002013-03-24T20:37:51.123-06:00To Remember How to SeeIn such a place, where the ghost queen kisses the ghost king as they dance in harmony, I suppose it's not so unusual, the love story that unfolded in harmful song. For this is a love story, and it is not mine, and yet, it is all mine.<br />
<br />
Once there was a small green dragon with golden eyes. He loved a princess, long-haired, pointed-chin. She was not a ghost like her parents, but I suppose being raised by ghosts takes a toll on you. She was as young as the dragon boy, but she didn't seem it. Forgetting and remembering, over and over, had aged her. She smiled at him, and to her, that meant love.<br />
<br />
She had a secret, and the secret was as large and terrible as the forbidden wood where he lived. She had read the stories handed down by faerie godmothers of centuries before, and knew that a dragon's heart is enough to stop age, to promote immortality, to restore to a prematurely old princess the youth she ought to have. And I think that was the reason she loved the dragon most - he could heal her, if she ate his heart.<br />
<br />
He was silly over her. He loved her more than anything and he wanted nothing but her love. That's why he was sad, that day. It was foggy and grey and the hunting hounds were out.<br />
<br />
"Whoever catches the small green dragon, the one with love in his eyes, will be rewarded." The princess proclaimed to the hunting party. "I will give them all that they ever desire. I will acknowledge them as the mighty hunter, the dragon-slayer, that they most want to be. But the dragon must not know what you are doing, or it will consume you in its fiery wrath."<br />
<br />
The hunters set out, and one, a sharp-faced skinny thing with overlarge eyes, drew her bow against herself.She was small, and a little scared, because she didn't have any concept of killing. She was a healer. She liked to make things feel better, by her hands, and she was good at it. Cuts and bruises, broken hearts and sadness, all fell to the forest floor with her, the huntress and healer. I don't know why she wanted to find the dragon. Maybe she could feel his sadness.<br />
<br />
She shut her eyes and let the forest spin around her like the world in orbit. She knew she could find the dragon, because the huntress was named Pity, and Pity always finds those who are in love.<br />
<br />
She felt hot breath against her and opened her eyes, and there he stood, the weepy-eyed green dragon. Somehow, she was not surprised. "Good evening."<br />
<br />
"They're looking for me, aren't they?" said the small dragon. "The hunters?"<br />
<br />
The thin huntress nodded.<br />
<br />
"If they knew what it was to love, they'd know where to find me." he said mournfully. He turned his great sad eyes from the mountains to the girl. "I never wanted to run from the princess. You must understand love, to find me. What is your name?"<br />
<br />
Love is a great thing to understand. She blushed. "I'm called Pity. I'm a huntress and a healer."<br />
<br />
"Pity. That is a good name." The dragon says, infinite sadness and infinite wisdom coloring his voice. "Are you going to take me to see her at last? That's what you're here for."<br />
<br />
Pity had not realized how hard this would be. He was a fool. The princess would kill him, and he couldn't even see it, because he loved her. One thing she knew - this poor fool was the sweetest of monster, and maybe she did understand love, because I think she loved the poor dragon. "I have to tell you something."<br />
<br />
"I will listen."<br />
<br />
Of course, she can't just say the princess means to kill him in her selfish want of love. She closed her eyes and listened again, hearing his heartbeat. "Why do you love her?" She puts her healing hands against his chest, feeling sadness seeping into her fingers.<br />
<br />
"Can the bee explain why it makes its honey sweet? Does the mountain know why it shadows the towns below? Can a huntress tell away her knowledge of the bow?" He shook his head. "You and I are alike, Pity. You know love too, and you don't understand it, same as me. That's why I trusted you, Pity. That's why I let you see me, why we found each other. Because we're both starving because we don't know what we know. We have both given everything, too, haven't we?"<br />
<br />
No one had ever talked to Pity like this before. "Are you saying that my listening is giving?"<br />
<br />
A great, steaming dragon tear fell to the ground. "It is also taking. You are pulled, little Pity. And you do not understand the things you know."<br />
<br />
"Dragon!" She turns to him with concern in her forehead. "You are bleeding!"<br />
<br />
"You have cut me, Pity. Your hands are the hands of a huntress." The dragon says weakly.<br />
<br />
"No! No, I never meant to hurt you!" She presses her hands to the hole in his chest. The blood falls through her fingers, and the wound begins to close.<br />
<br />
"Take your hand away. Your healing can not truly heal. You only want the pain to stop, I know your kind well, Pity, but it will only hurt it all more." He gasps and pushes her hand away. His heart falls free from his chest.<br />
<br />
"No! No, I never meant to hurt you! All I wanted to do was make you feel better!" Tears are pouring from her, and join his blood.<br />
<br />
"It's all right, Pity. I wanted this. And better to be killed by a small girl named Pity than a giant called Regret." He turned to her, weakly. "You do not understand the things you know, not at all. You are no healer."<br />
<br />
Tears poured from all of her. "I know. I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"<br />
<br />
He put his talon against her back. "No, don't feel bad, my dear little Pity. That's not why I told you that. Just know this - sometimes what a dragon needs is to be cut, and not to be made whole. You will learn, little one, how to do both, and how to know what you do is right." Tears leak from his eyes. "I trust you, Pity. Do you trust me?"<br />
<br />
"Yes." she whispers. "Yes, I do, Dragon."<br />
<br />
"My name is not Dragon; it is Love. My kind will teach you well one day. But now, little one, I am trusting you with this, my heart, my most precious gift. Would you give it to the princess for me?"<br />
<br />
"Why do you love the Princess? She does not love you. She wanted you to be hunted."<br />
<br />
"It doesn't matter. I would that she would have just asked me for my heart, for I would have willingly given it to her. But now, she will be healed." he sighed. "And you will be well-renowned as a dragon-slayer."<br />
<br />
"No, I will not." Pity said resolutely. "I will be renowned as the small girl who found a dead dragon and cried at his body, and whose tears made the flowers grow."<br />
<br />
The dragon regarded her and his talon fell away from her back. "Then you are wise, and you are learning already." He shut his eyes. "One favor, if I may, Pity?"<br />
<br />
She leaned forward. "Anything."<br />
<br />
"Heal my eyes. I have been blind a long time."<br />
<br />
She pressed her hands to his eyes and her tears made him see. He sighed, and the flowers began to bloom. "So, that is what your eyes look like." And he breathed his last.<br />
<br />
And little Pity, leaving her bow in the forest, took his heart to the princess and she was healed. I don't think she ever knew how Pity had slain a dragon called Love by accident to heal her, and I don't think she was ever thought of by that selfish princess again, but Pity knew. She never forgot him, the dragon Love, and I think that she did learn how to heal and how to kill by her hands. But she mostly went every spring to the place where they had made the flowers grow, to remember how to see.Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-14094433325592239572012-08-27T22:39:00.001-06:002013-03-24T20:39:06.397-06:00The Urchin<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
The travelling man came across an urchin in the street. She was dirty and her fingernails were clenched and bloodied against her breast. One hand was pressed to the pavement and the other was pressed against her breast. Hollow-eyed, she glanced up at the man and waved with one hand still against her. Her shawl falls away from her dirty eyes and she stares. He waves back and travels on. He is a travelling man, it's what he does. She's just a little urchin girl, and as he whisps on, an empty chewing-gum wrapper falls from his pocket. She picks it up and calls in a softly lisping voice, "Thank you, sir. I'll hold this piece of kindness in my pocket and one day when I have something to give, I'll be kind to you too." He doesn't turn around, but hopes that she'll grow up to be not such a dirty girl as she is now.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Decades later, when the moon is king and the sun is dark, the travelling man returns and as he walks, he sees the urchin girl - thinner, colder, and brittle as a snowflake. She is not an urchin anymore, but a seller of secrets, a lie-seller. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"Are you a<span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> buyer of things I know?" she said softly in the street, her hand clenched against herself. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
The white-lipped man with the pocketwatch stops. "Are you a seller of good things?"</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"I sell the things I know, sir. But we will barter in things we know: I will hold whatever secret you put into me and then I will tell you something happy. You may buy the things I know."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
So he whispered a bitter secret into her ear, and she took her hand off of her breast, and pulled, to the travelling man's surprise, her hand away holding her heart, beating and hollow as a drinking gourd. She put the pale secret into the hollow vase of her heart, solemnly. Then she pressed it back into her chest. She shuddered and grew a little paler. "Thank you. I'll hold it unless you want it back." She said it sort of like a question.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"No. I do not miss it." </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"Then let me tell you a secret, in exchange for what you sold me." She looked up into the heavens, and whispered something in his ear. His face lifted and he smiled. His lips took some color and he put his pocketwatch away. Then he walked away.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
She smiled thinly and sat back down. Whatever he said had made her sad, and whatever she had said had made him happy. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
The travelling man was curious. And so he walked to her. "Are you a buyer of things I know?" she said. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
His eyes shot from her dark hollow eyes to her hand clenched against her. "What do you sell? Lies or the truth?"<br />
</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Her eyes flickered. "I don't know the difference. I sell the things in my heart. I have many things that my heart knows. And I sell the ones that make you happy. I'd make you happy, sir, if you'd exchange me something in your heart."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"Why?"</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"My heart falls out a lot, and it has a hollow in it. It's shaped like a secret. So I thought I should do it that way. That part I know is true."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
He stretched out his hand and dropped a beam of light, purer than any secret into her hands.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"I can't keep this, sir." she said, her lips quivering. "I've never had anything this beautiful. I'm not that kind of girl, sir."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"Keep it." he said softly. Curious, he said," Now, tell me one of the things you sell people."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
After a moment's hesitation, she rose to her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. His eyes intuitively brightened. "But that is true." he said happily. "The things you say are true."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
She looked relieved, and tired. "I'm learning now what true is, sir. But that's not what I say, sir. I'm saying things that are happy."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
He looked her in the eye. "Now tell me one of the things still in your heart. One of the sad ones."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
She shook her head. "No, they are mine to hold. I'm the one with the hole in my heart, and I'm the only one who has to do this. I wouldn't wish this on you."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"But they're lies." he said. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
She turned her head in a somewhat shamed way and walked.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
The travelling man saw her again the next day, sitting on the ground. The first thing he noticed was that her hand was out in front of her face, outstretched, and not clenched against her.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
In her hand, her heart was bleeding all over, and the smile he was accustomed to seeing on the lie-seller's face was gone. "It wouldn't go back in today." She said blankly. "I couldn't get it back once I put a secret in it." She winced.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"Does it hurt?"</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
She winced. "I can't tell if this is truth or a lie. And I know I'll die if I get it wrong." She glanced back to her heart in her hands.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"I will show you the truth." Said the travelling man. And he put his hand on her heart and held it for her as she coughed. Secrets and lies and sadness and blood poured out of it and she coughed and cried. "No, no!" she said. "I promised I would hold those."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
But they continued to pour until one last thing was stuck in there as she gasped.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
It was a chewing gum wrapper.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
"I made a promise once," she said to the travelling man, all out of breath. "to be kind to you."</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Then she crushed her heart into her hands and said, "I can not hurt you any more. Neither can I lie to anyone again." </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
And the urchin exhaled.</div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-90455486657228255702012-08-11T22:33:00.001-06:002013-03-24T20:40:33.017-06:00The Wedding DancerI remember him well<br />
The shepherd with the lute<br />
Such a sweet boy<br />
Such a sweet, sweet sad boy<br />
I loved him with every part of my voice<br />
I never did know her name,<br />
The fanged little wolf that stole<br />
his heart, which I'd always thought<br />
would be forever free.<br />
Maybe I love him still.<br />
I'll dance at his wedding, forgetting.<br />
<br />
I remember her too<br />
She was a small sparrow<br />
One wing was clipped military short<br />
She perched on my shoulder<br />
She was my song and my sighing<br />
I loved her more than anyone<br />
She was my child<br />
He loved her too, with his overalls<br />
His overlarge hat<br />
His heart wide open so<br />
I could see he loved her<br />
He loved her best, the sparrow<br />
And I was glad to give her away<br />
But how I miss her<br />
I loved her too, thought<br />
Maybe more purely than the other<br />
It's okay.<br />
I'll dance the Lindy Hop at her wedding<br />
In my red shoes.<br />
<br />
He's not a memory yet<br />
The White Knight, I loved him too<br />
My poor heart could never quite<br />
But that's not important<br />
The White Knight came green<br />
and wounded and I loved him from the beginning<br />
He was as beautiful as a Mid-Atlantic<br />
Snowstorm. His sword<br />
Was rusty but his pipes were fresh.<br />
I love him still.<br />
I've always known about her, too.<br />
As long as I've known him,<br />
I've known the White Knight<br />
was meant for a princess<br />
not a Lady of the Lake<br />
or dancer<br />
I've always loved you for someone else<br />
And that's okay.<br />
I always will.<br />
That's why I'm the Lady of the Lake.<br />
I love you, I<br />
Promise I do.<br />
And, I am not so broken, you know<br />
I will dance at your wedding.Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-53581574836367719802012-08-03T17:18:00.001-06:002013-03-24T20:41:33.566-06:00Dear Bathsheba [[remorse and resurrection]]<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<em>...Oh, beloved Bathsheba. Do not leave me here, alone with the moon. I love you, my dear, oh, I love you...</em></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br />
God, how I miss you. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
I'm very alone here, Abba. When I saw her bathing on the roof, I loved her. She loved me, too, God, I know she did. We were beautiful together, admit it. She was sad and she was lonely, and I was scared and I was misunderstood. I was so afraid to lose her. You've taken me away so many times from the ones I love. I was afraid you would do it again, God, that once again, you'd cast me away from the ones I love. I loved them, God. I promise I did. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
I think that was why I snatched her up the way I did, I just didn't want to lose her, the way I lost all the others I loved most. I know, I know, it was wrong of me to be so afraid.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
I wasn't trying to hurt her, the pretty, weeping girl that night. I wasn't trying to hurt you either, I swear it. Oh, how I didn't want to give her up. I miss her, my beloved Bathsheba. It wasn't her fault, of course, the dark way I loved her, the way my love turned to murder.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Oh, God, I can't even think about that. My heart will break all over again and I think I had just salvaged enough of it to say I'm sorry. I am. I'm so so sorry.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
How you must despise me. My family does. My whole kingdom does. I despise myself, most of all my bitter-stained heart. </div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
I'm alone with the moon again. I'm a mass of contradictions, you know - the king after God's heart and the one who killed for a bitter love.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Give me my harp, my dear, I need to sing a short song. Or maybe it will be a long one.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
You're my beloved now, the real one, you who never left me alone with the outside darkness (saying I'm sorry and then trying to forget over and over). You've kept my hands gathered, and for the last time, taken hyssop and ground it into my heart, into my eyes, into my hands.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
I'm aflame now, and I'm weeping and there is resurrection. My heart died when we parted, you and I, and I buried it when I said goodbye to her, but now, create in me a clean heart, a new one, O God, and resurrect - renew - a right spirit within me. Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Because, I'm sorry isn't going to work when you're alone with the moon. Because, a broken and a contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Thanks be to God. Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord.</div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-38858917969498169422012-07-31T17:34:00.000-06:002013-03-24T20:43:33.757-06:00The Siren<i>My child, now let us look at a marvel...</i><br />
What a peculiar little chimaera<br />
See her long hair as wild and dark as moss<br />
Beloved eyes one green and one purple<br />
She is so very small, but with<br />
A large voice singing songs<br />
Oh, my child, cover your ears and<br />
stuff beeswax into them<br />
For the little white lady<br />
with harp-voice wings<br />
With a green serpent wound down her waist<br />
She's quite something<br />
Look at her, wet smiling and air weeping<br />
A warning, that's what we call her<br />
Because we can not be both<br />
Air and water<br />
Much less an earth and a spirit<br />
There can be no candle in the underworld<br />
No worms in love with doves<br />
Salt in a fresh spring<br />
Do not marvel at me, my child<br />
But as I change<br />
You may love me<br />
[that's a question]Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-23912113596490529672012-07-29T16:05:00.001-06:002013-03-24T20:44:46.152-06:00I fall in love with a bird and liveOnce upon a time, there was a little worm-girl. She lived in the quietest part of a garden, under hte shade of a wild-haired tulip.<br />
<br />
There was not one thing special about this worm. She was not important, she was not talented, she was not (certainly not!) pretty. The easiest way to describe her is a Nobody among Nobodies.<br />
<br />
The grown-up worms knew her to be a simple-hearted little thing with no big aspirations and no big exceptional traits, but a big heart - big for a worm, that is. The boy worms were blinded by her blindness and usually mistook her for a ladybug. Ladybugs are good at listening, but are usually too prim and proper to be friends.<br />
<br />
Maybe they were right. She was a very blind worm, and not very important at all. Either way, she listened a lot, and she loved to listen. But she still couldn't see and maybe that was her biggest fault.<br />
<br />
One day, she was squalling about in the shade of the garden. It was so bright and hot and her skin hurt. She, in her ungainly worm fashion, squinted her forehead where her eyes would have been and squirmed uncomfortably away. She thought about the sun and the other worms and the tulips and suddenly wished she weren't blind even though she'd know how ugly she was.<br />
<br />
"Hello, girl."<br />
<br />
She froze. She knew that voice. It was a bird, one of the bright winged creatures who are as full of light as they are of air and beauty. They also eat worms. "Hello, bird." She said. She flails side to side, trying to face him as best as one can with no face.<br />
<br />
"Don't trouble yourself," he said softly. He hopped around to face her. "Are you alright, girl?"<br />
<br />
She can't remember the last time she was alright.And she knew birds. They tried to be kind, but they're so beautiful, so undeniably <i>better</i>, that they end up devouring poor worms like her. "What do you want from me?" She said.<br />
<br />
He waits a long time to answer. When he does, his voice is soft as warm poppy petals. "Just... just to love you." he says quietly. "To be friends. You've always been kind."<br />
<br />
Not to wild birds. "Thanks, but not really. I'm not kind." she says, worming her tail awkwardly backward.<br />
<br />
"Yes, you are. You've always listened and cared and asked and been kind to me. I-" he hesitates. "Don't you remember how kind you are to me?"<br />
<br />
"I do not know you." What a sorry thing to say. "I'm sorry, but I don't."<br />
<br />
"That's okay." he says, and he's not quite disappointed. "I think we are friends."<br />
<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
"I think," he hesitates again. "I think I, maybe, love you." It sounds like a question.<br />
<br />
She didn't answer, because birds can't really love worms, not really. They may care, they may be merciful or even kind, possibly sweet, but never ever can they really love worms. Where would they live?<br />
<br />
She wishes she could have seen how he looked when he said it though.<br />
<br />
He did keep coming back, the bird boy, every day. They did nothing together. She couldn't really fly with him, and there was nothing that she would like him to see about her home. So they lazed. They listened. They sat. They talked. They were together.<br />
<br />
"Tell me about seeing," She said. They're sitting in the sunshine. Her tail is would around his talons.<br />
<br />
"It's amazing." His breath and his wings are against her back. She sighs, because it's good to be together and alive together. "The world is very bright." he continues.<br />
<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
"I see things as they seem, I think. It's not like what you do, dear."<br />
<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
He stirs a little. "I love you."<br />
<br />
Before she can talk herself out of the glimpse of light she just had, she says, "I love you too."<br />
<br />
Oh no! She is blind. She is a blind ugly worm. She can not love him. He can not love her, but even less can she love him. "No! No, I can not love you." She gulps down a pocket of tears. "I am a worm and you are a bird."<br />
<br />
"You don't understand. Love isn't like that."<br />
<br />
"A bird can not love a worm, my dear. Where would they live?" She says, and the world is very very dark again.<br />
<br />
A blink of light. "We are each other. Not a bird, nor a worm. We are who we are."<br />
<br />
A blink of tears. "No, you can't do that. Don't become a worm for me."<br />
<br />
His wings move. "I've always been a worm. It was you who first called me a bird."<br />
<br />
All of a sudden, she remembers who he is and why he knew they were friends. But she knew him, once a long time ago, not as the bird that he is, but as one of the other wailing worms. She had listened to him.<br />
<br />
"But I feel your wings." She says, stubbornly. "You are more than you think you are. How could you be a worm?"<br />
<br />
He smiles. "Sometimes love goes by many names. Sometimes, its best name is blindness."<br />
<br />
Love is neither sight nor blindness.<br />
<br />
"No." She says. "Love's name is not blindness. Love is what is real, it is a realization. You are a bird. My blindness gave love realization."<br />
<br />
"Do you not feel your wings?" he says softly. "My sight will realize your reality, too."<br />
<br />
She is not a worm. He is not a bird. They are real and the in between of wings and worms is where they live.Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-27231009597106111332012-07-23T20:43:00.002-06:002013-03-24T20:46:04.543-06:00when hearts are many-facedMy heart has many faces, and all of them are turned toward many yous.<br />
<br />
I miss our impromptu singing.<br />
<br />
I miss looking at you and the telepathic connection unfolding.<br />
<br />
I miss knowing your heart and reading your face.<br />
<br />
I miss dancing.<br />
<br />
I miss long travel days.<br />
<br />
I miss setting food aside for you when you’re too busy to eat.<br />
<br />
I miss getting texts from you when we’re sitting across from each other in boring meetings.<br />
<br />
I miss pinning on your nametag and fixing your hair.<br />
<br />
I miss apples and peanut butter and bran muffins and chocolate chip cookie dough.<br />
<br />
I miss sitting under blankets and hammocks and the way you smell early in the morning.<br />
<br />
I miss stairwells and bad food days and the weird smell of Wendell’s office<br />
<br />
.I miss the broken oven and the uncomfortable futons and people being everywhere.<br />
<br />
I miss laughing till we make the sun rise at night.<br />
<br />
I miss your laugh and your voice and your smile and the way your eyes become soft as cotton candy right before your heart leaps from your lips.<br />
<br />
I miss times when you told me your secrets and we cried.<br />
<br />
I miss you.If you were a person, you’d be a many-faced person.<br />
<br />
If you were a heart, you’d be a many-faced heart. And I think we are more or less a person, because I think we are more or less a lonely bride. And I think we are more or less a heart, because I feel us beating each other sometimes.<br />
<br />
I miss lots of things today. And it’s good to miss and it’s good to remember and it’s good to care that the pieces of my heart - the pieces of his heart - will someday be gathered, and we’ll have one face. Then there will be no more missing at all, because we will be one.Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-89310910133767891122012-04-02T14:34:00.001-06:002013-03-24T20:48:22.896-06:00Summer and Blue<div>
“Hello.” said the boy with the blue eyes. It was raining and his brown hair ran down his face with the rainwater. </div>
<div>
“Hi.” said the girl with the summer smile. Her hair was not running anywhere. She held a polka dot umbrella over her head and stood in its spotlight. </div>
<div>
The boy with the blue eyes smiled, but it was a sad, February smile. “We don’t know each other, do we?” The smile turned to frost, and the summer girl watched, perplexed and teary-eyed as he turned into an ice ghost before her.</div>
<div>
The summer girl had seen a ghost before. That’s how she knew the boy with the blue eyes was one. </div>
<div>
She lived in an industrial-strength box in the middle of a petulant city. The sky was a perplexing shade of brown and the people there were all little silent-movie black-and-white executives. They wore combed hair, conservative ties and carried briefcases with locks on them. The reason they had locks on the their briefcases was that they carried weeks of July and August, packaged in dandelion fluff and wishes, in them.</div>
<div>
Summer is very heavy.</div>
<div>
Every evening at the very same time, in the very same way, the executives would sit down at their mouldering kitchen tables with a glass of strong autumn in one hand and their briefcase in the other and they would open them and smell their summer weeks and look at the yellow sun in a briefcase where it doesn’t need to shine except to keep awake. </div>
<div>
The girl with the summer smile had always been told she was born at that time of day and when she had made her first sound – a self-conscious hiccup – she had accidentally swallowed a sunbeam and that it was always trying to run away when she smiled.</div>
<div>
In reality, the reason she smiled like summer is that when she had first got her briefcase full of July and August, she had looked at the sun so often she had begun to turn into summer itself. When the others found out, they put her in a very industrial little box house and told her about the ritual of seeing summer only once a night.</div>
<div>
So she listened and met the ghost boy in the wallpaper. </div>
<div>
He was translucent with tiny teeth and a mass of hair. “Hello.” he said as he rose from the oily industrial wallpaper. </div>
<div>
She was still too young to run away from either ghosts or strange boys.</div>
<div>
She was not afraid of him. </div>
<div>
So they became friends until he left her to go to the capacious attic where he turned into a pile of bones with a heartbeat.</div>
<div>
She cried.</div>
<div>
When she could come to her senses and abandon the drudgery of walking under a brown sky with a briefcase, she climbed the cobwebs to the attic, and, stifling the Niagara Falls inside her lungs, she found the bones and embraced them for she embraced the ghost boy’s memory. She tripped on a wooden puppet on the way down.</div>
<div>
She grew to despise both attics and puppets. </div>
<div>
Standing here in the rain looking at the blue-eyed boy made of ice, she was reminded unpleasantly of the ghost boy’s heap of bones in the attic. </div>
<div>
She lowered her eyebrows. “I defy you, Death.” she said to the February clouds. “I know you mean harm only and I see where caring got me last time.” </div>
<div>
She turned from the boy with blue eyes and the sound of her shoes was like rain. And rain was raining. And the boy was making noises silently, and his eyes were blue, and his cheeks were running blue and his chin was raining blue and he was crying and there was rain. He was unmoved still – she knew because she heard no footsteps behind her – but he was blue with ice and blue with rain and blue with crying. </div>
<div>
She looked down at the crackling sidewalk and observed her feet, made of smoke and coffee stains. She observed her transparent hands and her tears fell through her – his tears too. All of a sudden, things were plain and sunflowers grew – she was a ghost. Even less than a mouldering heap of bones piled up without a soul in an attic, she was a ghost. </div>
<div>
Both. No wonder she had not run from the wallpaper boy. Ghosts. How could she remember the wallpaper boy, if she and the blue-eyed boy are so of smoke and ice. There is no marriage of fire and water. There is no love in ghosts. </div>
<div>
And the blue-eyed boy’s tears met hers and they turned to blood and the blood ran off them. She turned around as he turns toward her and their blood vapor hands meet.</div>
<div>
Blood turns to water and they fall into stars. They are alive and summer meets blue and we call it Love.</div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-54483271264376454522011-11-05T09:51:00.002-06:002013-03-24T20:49:26.069-06:00Walk My Love<i>Siuil, siuil, siuil a run</i><br />
<div>
<i>Siuil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin</i></div>
<div>
<i>Siuil go doras agus ealaigh lion</i></div>
<div>
<i>Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Walk, my love</div>
<div>
Run, my love</div>
<div>
I have found your heart, my love</div>
<div>
Hold now -</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Among the reeds the tusks of pigs</div>
<div>
I'm picking up pearls thrown</div>
<div>
[At me I'm the dirty girl</div>
<div>
Cleaning laundry hang me up to dry]</div>
<div>
Selling my bejeweld soul</div>
<div>
Selling my windswept mind</div>
<div>
Selling myself to dirty tricks</div>
<div>
dirty work dirty men and egrets</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Walk, my love</div>
<div>
Run, my love</div>
<div>
I have found your heart, my love</div>
<div>
Hold now -</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the muck where algae</div>
<div>
Is crawling up my arms</div>
<div>
My skirt eaten by frogs swallowed</div>
<div>
I Am Bare</div>
<div>
My skin crawls and would you stop looking at me</div>
<div>
[They're all dirty boys and girls</div>
<div>
That's why they laugh at my nakedness</div>
<div>
I'm burning put out the fire boys]</div>
<div>
They cry laugh turn their backs</div>
<div>
My hands grasp a sword of bronze</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Walk, my love</div>
<div>
Run, my love</div>
<div>
I have found your heart, my love</div>
<div>
Hold now -</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cutting away my skin</div>
<div>
I bleed</div>
<div>
My skin falls off</div>
<div>
I cut further</div>
<div>
My muscle falls away</div>
<div>
I cut further</div>
<div>
My bones clatter down</div>
<div>
I cut further</div>
<div>
Just my heart now, my love</div>
<div>
It still beats. I am still alive.</div>
<div>
The battle is against me</div>
<div>
And against the frogs</div>
<div>
[I'm a dirty heart</div>
<div>
But I am a little fighter</div>
<div>
I promised my children I'd never]</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Walk, my love</div>
<div>
Run, my love</div>
<div>
I have found your heart, my love</div>
<div>
Hold now -</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Can't you see I've done this killing </div>
<div>
For love?</div>
<div>
Dead frogs and boneless hearts</div>
<div>
For love</div>
<div>
Oh failure</div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i>Sweet transparency</i></div>
<div>
What was I supposed to do?<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i>Love all over our bodies</i></div>
<div>
I think I've always loved you.</div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>W<i>herever I'm with you.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Walk, my love</div>
<div>
Run, my love</div>
<div>
I have found your heart, my love</div>
<div>
Hold now.</div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-50146123261588141462011-10-14T17:06:00.001-06:002013-03-24T20:50:51.429-06:00White Bird<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>White Bird<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Once upon a time, there was a little bird. All of white, she dressed herself in the morning and the songs of half-forgotten cemeteries, all crying out. She was a very young little bird, her downy feathers not quite finding flight. That didn’t stop her from believing that the sky could not contain her joy.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I only know that when you play with Thelma, you always get the worst of it. That is why I say, be careful.” said Mother.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The little white bird flew along the lines of the trees. She crossed them like barbed wire and landed among the wild yellow lilies. Each one grasped at her with their feline paws and, among them, she knew she had a home. But the joy of the sky was still uncontainable, and something inside of her cried out that there had to be more than this. The lilies wiped their mouths with their sleeves and turned to devour another bite of her tail.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Max, the king of all wild things, was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.<br />And from all across the world, Max smelled good things to eat, and so he gave up being king of where the wild things are. But the wild things cried, “Oh, please don’t go! We’ll eat you up! We love you so!”<br />But Max said, “No.” And he climbed aboard his private boat…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>White birds<br />are<br />harder to<br />chew<br />than<br />wolves are<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are not a hen. You are not a kitten. You are not a cow. You are not a car, or a plane, or a Snort. You are a bird, and you are my mother.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The white bird couldn’t escape the gnawing grip of the tiger lilies. Her wings, now clipped by their maws, were tainted red by their bloodstained teeth. Her tail was caught among the green leaves. No one could see her any longer. But reality set in and the traps were broken. The sunrise gobbled up the night and she didn’t want to leave the warm embrace of the bloodied flowers…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once upon a time, there was a princess –<br />“Was the princess you?<br />- and she fell in love –<br />“Was it hard to do?”<br />- it was very easy!<br />“Was he strong and handsome?<br />“Was he big and tall?”<br />There’s no one like him, anywhere at all…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>iloveyou<br />crytheweeds<br />iloveyou<br />crythebluebonnets<br />iloveyou<br />criesthesun<br />iloveyou<br />crythetigerlilies<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know who you are,” the man said, “for I made you. I built the tower and set it in motion. I planted the meadow, put fish in the ocean. I’ve seen you fall down in the mud and the goo. I’ve seen all you’ve done and all you will do. Here’s what you look like. Here’s how I see you. Put this in your pack and you’ll find it will free you from all of the pictures and all of the lies that others make up just to cut down your size.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Suffocated by the words of the flowers and the desire of the skies, the white bird died…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Max sailed back through a day, and in and out of weeks, and almost over a year to his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> And it was still hot.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Wings fly on.<br />Beating in her chest.<br />Maybe it’s her muscles straining to fly.<br />Maybe her heartbeat.<br />Only wild things love me,<br />She sings.<br />Until the sun<br />Eats her up<br />In his enthusiasm to see her<br />And the joy of the sky<br />Embraces a<br />White hand.</i><i><o:p> </o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 7.0pt; line-height: 115%;">{Featuring selections from<br />A Bargain for Frances, by Russel Hoban<br />Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak<br />Are You My Mother?, by P.D. Eastman<br />The Disney classic, Snow White<br />A Snoodle’s Tale, by Phil Vischer<br />Original piece, “White Bird” by Catey Yuen}<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-48849501096216269752011-10-04T13:49:00.002-06:002013-03-24T20:52:04.972-06:00Two Poems on One Day (Two/ little bits and pieces)<u>Two</u><br />
<div>
<u><br /></u></div>
<div>
Two planes passed each other in the night</div>
<div>
Two silent blinking heartbeats</div>
<div>
Two longing believingly hopeful lights</div>
<div>
A pilot stops to find a star to eat</div>
<div>
Two planes and no delight</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two fireflies passed each other, full of fright</div>
<div>
They blink, they cover their mouths</div>
<div>
The moon's fear is far too bright</div>
<div>
They fall to the ground, careful not to arouse</div>
<div>
Two fireflies would never find a might</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two yellow-spiced winds passed each other on the right</div>
<div>
Briefly they intoxicate their own poisons</div>
<div>
They vomit up their hearing and sight</div>
<div>
They turn their blind eyes from wish and reason</div>
<div>
Two yellow-spiced winds are always a fight</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two white birds passed each other in flight</div>
<div>
Both too tired to want or demand</div>
<div>
Their heartbeats and wings fill with breathful white</div>
<div>
For just a moment, they hold hands</div>
<div>
And two white birds are all quite</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<u>little bits and pieces</u></div>
<div>
<u><br /></u></div>
<div>
little bits and pieces</div>
<div>
All of life was a map with a key</div>
<div>
and it was torn up into</div>
<div>
little bits and pieces</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I objectify and fragment</div>
<div>
I lust and I lose</div>
<div>
My vision is a stained glass crackled mirror</div>
<div>
Dropped by demons into my eyes</div>
<div>
Who are you?</div>
<div>
I see only long slender fingers</div>
<div>
I hear only the squalling of your singing</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm distressed by my love</div>
<div>
of little bits and pieces</div>
<div>
Whole<br />
Half </div>
<div>
None</div>
<div>
I'll be the white capped head of hair</div>
<div>
I'll blend into the green eyeliner</div>
<div>
No one will find me</div>
<div>
And no one will care</div>
<div>
And we'll call the silence freedom</div>
<div>
And we'll be free</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
little bits and pieces</div>
<div>
of glass and seashells only cut my hands</div>
<div>
but if I were invisible, I wouldn't have to worry</div>
<div>
about the little bits and pieces</div>
<div>
who like to follow me</div>
<div>
I'm a mother duck, you see</div>
<div>
And the whole of the earth is my duckling</div>
<div>
I spit my bill on the ground</div>
<div>
Because I'm disgusted</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I peck my bony feet till they're </div>
<div>
little bits and pieces</div>
<div>
My eyelashes all fell out</div>
<div>
And I lost my fingers</div>
<div>
In the white lake</div>
<div>
Beauty is lust</div>
<div>
And vision is fr<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>agmented</div>
<div>
All is</div>
<div>
little bits and pieces</div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099097430745791520.post-76857729651000935342011-09-06T10:03:00.002-06:002013-03-24T20:53:38.769-06:00drowning me<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Have you seen the little rainstorm? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I put it in a jar <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Swirlingly, it whispers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It is full of seaweed, the raw winds of oceanic<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Mindsets (when minds are full of pufferfishwhich eat their neighbors<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">and refuse to see the waves above their heads asanything but <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">symmetry and empty seashells) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oh how the pickled skybirds do make me swing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My hands in deathly frustration<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Why is the sky so big?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Why am I a jellyfish?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Did you not promise me I would be an angelic <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Jellyfish are purposeless and hideous<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I am consumed by the pufferfish struggles<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I am distraught by the fact<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Of the ocean drowning me <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I. am. so. confused. by. grace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Lift up your heads, O ye<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Who shall ascend the hill<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Who is the king of glory<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Waves sound like<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">drowning me<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span">grace</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Echoes in Inkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14152573066460899018noreply@blogger.com0