Though not insistent, she exerts a pressure that I feel as emptyness or a vague wanting. I opened my door to the night. She came rushing in, her coolness flavored with the perfume of starlight and the sparkle of moonlight behind her eyes. Never alone, she brought frogsong; the delicate and distant chirping coming from ditches and puddles in the fields outside this sleeping town.
I stood in the doorway as she brushed past, her hand on my cheek; her mind, my mind. Empty to my own self, filled with the mystery of the dark; of shadows, of caves, of unknowable places. She is more than the absense of sunlight. Her refuge is beyond the edges, the places we will never see, nor even dream of seeing. She lives in that far vastness and comes to visit. Her presence indicates the smallness of our world.
On the edge of a drainage ditch, a thumbnail sized frog chirps loud and insistent. His words are a trickle into a stream, to a roaring river of frogsong. His green skin sparkles with the freshness of just-budded leaves; of emeralds finely ground. Each sparkle mote a reflection of the entire night sky. His croaking a small push into next year. Pushing the collective song along through time, so that it will be heard again, as it was heard when we came to this place, long ago and seeming like yesterday.
Her skin is the frog's skin; irridescent with the sparkle of his song. Her cloak, the lonely sound of a single car on a wet, empty street. Her visit short. She never says "Goodbye".
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About Me
- roberto kiam borderlineartist@gmail.com
- I live in a quaint, little town, plagued with the specter of speculation and commerce. I am trailer trash,with wishes for good dishes. I shoulda died long ago, but like a rescue dog, didn't. I am indescribably scattered. I speak three languages. I walk a tenuously, true path. I am lucky. For myself, for others. God, it is said, protects orphans, widows and the innocent.
3 comments:
i like this alot.
i wrote this recently and maybe you will relate:
Lonesome Dove
I’m sittin here and it’s nearly Easter.
I feel like I should be goin somewhere.
So I up and started to go.
I didn’t know where, but I would soon think up a destination.
I must need to go somewhere. It’s almost time to go.
Everyone is going. I gotta go. Where should I go!
Soon after, it began to dawn on me: goin was the last thing I wanted to do. I really didn’t want to go. But I felt like I should be goin; should be doin.
I started to flash play my childhood when I had to go,
whether or not I wanted to go was never really a choice.
We’ve got to go now and hurry, we’ve got to hurry, don’t sit about wastin time, get yourself ready.
But I don’t want to go Mother.
That has nothing to do with it! You’ve got to go; we’re all going; they’ll be expecting us.
Who mother? Who is expecting?
Now I’m all growed up or so it appears.
And t’is nearly Easter.
There is the roar of traffic and the bustle of readiness all about me. Neither of which much appeals to me, bustling and roaring that is.
And yet, I felt like I should be gettin ready.
Better get ready, me brain gnaws at me throughout the morn.
And on into noon and after noon.
Now tis evening and I’m still feelin a bit cornered, like I should be getting ready; like I should be goin.
I sense my Mither standing over me and where her eyes meet my scalp my head grows hot.
Is it by yourself ya want to be, she queries?
No, tis not by my self, but with my self lass.
and i chased it with this :
Disorders aka I say Fek’em!
oh and teacher, one more thing, there is no such thing as attention deficit disorder.
there’s just you tellin me and all the other kidlets what we should be payin mind to.
and there’s me dis agree’n.
and you getting pissed off and making up a word to put me in your prison.
and than ya convince my ma and my pa and all of ma and pa’s neighbors that they better watch out, seems to be an epidemic goin about.
well, ya no sooner mention dis ease and whoa bessie,
call a latin squawkin sawbones and let’s get this thing under a micro scope. soon ya got the backin of the entire ama, oops more alphabet soup.
ho and hum and ho hum ho hum.
don’t want to be truant, might put you in jail. might put ma in jail. might put pa in jail. better to put the kid in jail.
ever notice how kid spelled backwards is dik?
you can give it a label if it suits you,
but i prefer to call it independence.
no thing arose except through the word
and all things arose through the word.
dyslexia and left handedness go hand in hand. they are only a “disorder” because some soon to be authority could not relate. and we all know that the left hand reveals a more dominant right brain. so much for the girley girls.
i like payin attention to what i’m interested in.
i’ve got no problem with that, or did ya not notice?
i have a problem being forced to learn; forced to attend; forced to pay attention.
why not evaluate the teachers based on how many turn out for class.
your fraid, we’ll all be self indulgent pigs?
oink, oink, mighty smart animal the pig. plus i’d rather be a self indulgent pig than indulging someone else’s pig.
why not take the compulsion outta school and watch how obsessive compulsive disorder just sorta dries up and blows away like dandelion fuzz in a soft breeze.
why not change the system before the creator and the creative instinct is completely annihilated in very last human has been.
in fact to tell ya the whole truth, such mindless and narcissistic, balls out aggression puts me into a bit of volcanic state of unmitigated, escalating, absolutely raw, under my cuticles, highly focused mother fucking piss ant frame of mind.
or did ya not notice?
actually I lied.
I don't like this one.
I love it!
It might be on my top three list,
even.
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