Talisman

Erosion

Shortly before reading this post by Uneven Stephen, I had a very bad dream.

I tend to have dreams where I am at the ocean, usually on the beach or on a cement boardwalk overlooking the sand and the water. These dreams usually involve the ocean rising, washing to unknown high levels, eroding the beach to a steep precipice. There is falling in, there is a realization of the ocean towering over me, washing me away, washing me under the curl. Or worse, someone I love.

The recent dream was much the same. I sensed my father there. We were on the cement boardwalk and it was understood that my Meme ( french for grandmother) was sick, and had been placed at the edge of the water in a beach chair to absorb the sun. Reclined and sleeping, her snores reached me above her. Then before my eyes and in slow motion snap shots, she starts to slide into a now high, calm tide. She is slipping and snoring. I am terrified. I cannot just let her go, I have to save her. I see her face resting on the ocean chomped edge of sand while the rest of her is already devoured by the surface far more lake-like than ocean. She isn’t under yet. Between then and when I jump in, she slips down and through my fingers. I cannot find her.

It’s still so much that I need her. She died a long time ago.

Anyway…the dream has been bothering me. I’m lonely. Can it all boil down to being lonely, that I ache for that unconditional love?

Augur

You are late.

I am often late.

Not this late.

Very well. But I am here now.

But LATE.

And HERE.

Yes, here. Did you bring your satchel?

I always bring my satchel.

Including today?

What is wrong with you?

I just don’t even know why you’d ask that.

Fine then. Where should I set up today? The terrace?

Perhaps the dining room today.

The dining room? You know I work better outside.

I do. I think you know where it is.

What is going on?

Again, with such curious questions. Did you not get your money this month?

I did.

Did you get it last month too? And where your expenses paid?

You know the answer.

I do.

You must admit you are acting…out of sorts.

Must I? Watch the candlesticks there. I think that smaller table, in the corner.

Very well. The, uh, energy in here…it’s…odd.

Sit here, Ms. Milner. I think our session today is going to be quite successful.

For He Whose I Am

The bus had been 19 hours and 12 minutes of wasted time.

“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I obviously wasn’t thinking, judging by your reaction.”
“Go home.”
“Okay.”

She was now seated on the bench at the bus station, under the pretense of waiting for the next bus. In her hands, she held the pocket watch.

“That one.”
“This one? Miss, this one is an expensive watch.”
“I know.”
“Ok. Cash or charge?”
“Is it extra to engrave?”
“No, Miss. It’s complimentary. I will get you a sheet of paper.”

For he whose I am.

Counting her money again, she hesitated from buying a ticket. Why did she think he would come and stop her? Just because she came so far? Held back this long, her tears were heavy, overripe and finally fell like devastating bombs on the dry skin of her hands.

Feeling better after her cry, she stood up with purpose to buy her ticket and return home. She would write the whole thing off as an experience, an adventure, and fodder for her work. Maybe she would even get a book out of it…

“Violet!” Then, he was there.

Skin

someday to me someday’s skin someday’s taste
fantasy to you, fantasy’s skin, fantasy’s taste
forever to us
forever skin

Under

under

duress confess

guttural hum bug deep

bone thud humerus reduction

arrest

ShowMan: Second For Twenty

“Twenty” He paused to consider her offer, then scoffed. Bending over, he spat a gobbish mess on the dirt floor. Hendrix and Casino were standing by the tent flaps with shot guns. A khaki bag was pregnant with bundles of cash between his legs.

“You must be joking.” He responded with a thick accent. Elsie straightened her spine and trained her eyes on Carlo Rosado, Procurement Specialist. The hot Santa Ana winds played symphony with the tent walls, flapping and pinging.

“It’s a reasonable offer.” With a gaze that spoke of many journeys, she played cat and mouse with his darting oracle eyes. “I am not a reasonable man.” Carlo resisted her pull and Elsie felt something draining from her, to him.

“But you are a business man.” She said in a soothing voice, to bring him back to a place of barter.

“I wouldn’t be a very successful one if I allowed myself to be swindled so nakedly. “ Her laughter filled the tent.

“Twenty for a stone.” She started to get up, not bluffing, but prepared to leave. Needed to leave. It was her strength; the strength she had felt since she had come into possession of the stone seemed to be…

“Eight.” Almost to her feet, she noticed the nervous shuffle of the men with the guns.

“Eight? No.” She sat back down and crossed her legs. She started to remove her hat.

“Don’t tell me your story.” His tone was pure venom.

“Now it’s twenty two.” She barked at him. Elsie felt all muscles in the room tighten. Raymond Hendrix and Martine Casino each slide a foot back, as if to prepare themselves for the recoil of their weapons. Carlo began to rub his chin, the stubble making at sweeping sound.

“You insult me.” Leaning forward, he struck the table with his fist.

“Do you think that just because I’m a woman…?” Her words scurried behind her shadow as he screamed at her.

“Silence!” He let the quiet coat the floating canvas room, and then he made his next offer. “Thirteen.”

“Twenty Carlo.” She refused to budge. She was feeling nauseous. Her heart just started to pound in her temples when she heard him chuckle.

“Hmmm you are an interesting woman. Where did you work before here?” He asked, pulling out a cigar. Martine approached with a match.

“Around.” Elise responded with a sly smile, as if she would tell him anything, she thought to herself.

“Ha! That’s right, you tell them nothing, eh? Jimmy, get us some drinks. You like whiskey?”  Carlo was the type of man to ask questions only to hear your response, not necessarily to consider it. It made Elsie feel like a bug, under a microscope.

“Sure.”  She had never drunk whiskey before in her life.

“Martine, give me that dish, over here please. Now, tell me. Where did you come upon the stone?” The dish contained various nuts. He was going through and slowly taking all the cashews. He piled them on a paper napkin Jimmy placed under his tumbler. The sight of the greasy fetus shaped nuts turned her stomach. She imagined them as fat beetles, curling and uncurling. She pressed the cool glass to her lips, but did not sip.

“You don’t seriously expect me to answer that, do you?” Do not shake, she commanded her arm. The glass was returned to her own napkin. She wanted to beg for water. What was happening to her?

“Not really. Raymond?” He gestured with two fingers; a puppet master yanking a doll across the stage as punishment for a missed cue.

“Yes, boss?” Raymond was instantly at Carlo’s arm.

“I think we are done here. Bring the car around.”

“Yes boss.”

“So, Ms. Champagne. “ She handed him a piece of burlap, warm and soft around the edges. He grunted with satisfaction. He motioned again and Raymond handed the strap of the bag to Elsie.

“Carlo.” She whispered before she lost the guts and the chance. “What does this one do? Do you know?” He smiled and lifted the flap to leave the tent.

“I feel better already.”

There Should Be No Lines

Dream I

She would run from the house, lifting her rough skirts to increase her speed. To get there. The shouts of the sisters would echo, but she would ignore them and laugh, casting her eyes up to a blue sky. The sound of the tall grasses played drums on her tall boots. She would get there, she would. Defying all the rules, she would make it to the place, the illusion he had bloomed in her earthen mind. She would search the forest, wondering if it was all a Victorian fairytale, had she burned her bridges in a free fall for no reason, no promise.

But in her dream, he was there. His clear eyes darted to the side and she saw the carvings. And then he was gone again. She felt with her fingers tips and the wood still hummed and burned with life. She read it like a map and was off.

A new course charted.

Circles In A Pond

The children are writing on themselves.

I am tattooed, its true. Recently I got something new. This is the fourth tattoo since my oldest was born. She gets very excited, she loves me, she thinks its neat. She loves the fakes ones. But she hadn’t written on herself before.

The youngest is a hellion. She writes on everything and herself. The freedom and disregard for authority of the youngest has busted a dam in the oldest. The oldest is now lying, acting sneaky. Then…

I am doing dishes and I can hear the girls chattering away, playing and being silly in the “playroom”, a.k.a. a really small cozy nook behind the This-End-Up Couch. I wander into the livingroom just to check on them and notice my oldest decorating the youngest’s feet with blue triangles. Right below where she has written her own name.

“What are you doing?” She executes the “I’m Caught!” jump and I get no response.

Closer inspection reveals much decorating of skin has occured. And this is the second such incident since the newest tattoo. Sigh.

I get them both in the bathroom. I will have to scrub them since she wasn’t using crayola or anything, but some random no-name that came from a kit. I sit down on the milk crate and start pulling off clothes.

“Why did you do it?” I ask her casually. She is trying to get undressed without unbuttoning but stops at my question.

“I don’t know.” She responds, getting serious.

“Come on, I know you aren’t stupid, so knock it off. Tell me why.”

“I wanted a tattoo, like you.”

And there it is folks.
Thats how fast actions meet their consequences.