a fear tames it marks time wanders
through meadows builds huts in deep
valleys paints figures on walls
meanders into red, then yellow,
then into caves of glowing skulls
mother didn’t complain when she felt him
kicking up a storm and blowing all the trees
away. an ordinary thing, this tantrum inside
caves where she found the calcium to undo his
paralysis and he returns to origin
the audience tries to understand the narrative.
one, especially, understands the sequence.
sits in the back of the auditorium.
wears a wide-brimmed hat with jewels and flowers.
chews on their threads, deciphers their cells.
presents a mystery, a confluence of matter.
figures once in a while the story is incomplete.
figures once in a while paralysis is inaccessible.
figures once in a while mother wears the wide-brimmed
hat.
figures once in a while the shadow won’t join in the
fray.
says the shadow. all of this gray matter is one skull
says the mother. failing as they do
says the son. not like the presence of rectangles in a
room
as he plans from the beginning, his strategy
bears fruit—more, faster, easier. after
the tantrum, he identifies the jewels/walks
with 4 sticks and a fox/sucks his thumb inside
the forest/falls out of habitat and
into stupor, as mother withstands the tease
and motive, bargains to buy words, writes
the poem, break-a-way from shadowsleep
the audience stands up.
refuses to watch.
read the sign.
steps out the backdoor.
no surprise herelittle blue
rectanglessame poemsame matter
same wombsame blue outlinesglass
horse reflecting light across a sea
of narcissus/rose blooming in its own
vase of water
Originally published in Guillinna on Four Wheels by Sandra Squire Fluck. Available on Apple Books and Amazon Kindle.
