Saturday, February 24, 2007

Letter in lieu of speaking

Look what you have done now:
gone and made me a god. Didn't I
breathe my breath into some mud and
stir you into life. Didn't someone
reach in and take a rib bone from
me back when all I was
was a man?

Wasn't there a fall from grace?

It was all so long ago that I may have
some details wrong, but it seems there
was a void and a wound and some thrashing
around and a lot of blood. The taste of steel
on the tongue, the liquid snake-feel of muscle.
A blow and darkness. Water moving
on the face of the void.

That old story.

Then some period of wonder. I remember flowers
that smelled so sweet it made your mother and I swoon.
We'd lie down together in the scented shadows and talk
until the moon rose over the trees. Maybe you were a baby
then. Maybe you slept between us, pinching the soft skin
of your neck as you nursed at your mother's breast.

Maybe I wasn't even there. I know I took long walks in the
tangled jungle with a club, looking for something.
Perhaps I got lost. Or drove you away. Maybe I kept walking
as the land rose and the trees thinned out and there was ice
and hard rock and the going got harder. I skinned my knee and
watched the blood well up from the blue wound.

Clouds enveloped me. I stopped breathing.

It could be that I curled up on my side and wept bitterly.
Or a man came and we wrestled until dawn or a snake swallowed me
and I cut my way out of his belly or was it a whale.

Whatever. I woke up and was stiff. Alone. I made my way to the
edge of the clouds and looked down and there, far, far below,
was the circle of green. Like a garden. Trees and flowers.

Your mother washing clothes down by the river, you
talking to a man holding a flaming sword.

I call out to you, but you can't hear me or won't.

I want to come down from here now. I know there is something
I need to tell you, and something I need to give to you that
I forgot to give you when I left.

Now the man swings his sword. Your mother looks up from her washing.

Someone takes you by the hand. You are running, looking back.

Or I imagine that. You get smaller and smaller and it
is hard to say for certain.

But I tell myself that you were.



Anonymous Anonymous said...

i love this thing.

3:21 PM  
Blogger 21k said...

a dream or/& myth - just being alone and letting it run, this is great - really fine

4:52 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


Whenever I know the world is too evil I don't rub a worry stone or pray but I think about the few people in the world like you and that almost does it.


Same with you.

Like when the end times come, there will be some scattered about that will go on. Make enclaves of humanity for the future times.

Only you are doing it now.




7:35 PM  

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