SONG FIVE:
THRESHING
I know what it is to walk
in a dark, tight space
in a thin, pale town
where even the wind races to be through
and leaves not so much as dust behind
I have run to the sea
but still I fear I will be
sucked back – swallowed again
down that long dark throat
a canal with no light at the end
I re-member that place
straining to be a town
its pale ejaculations can never
form a fevered bed firing dreams of light
never a fertile spore alive and bright
Instead its spectral shimmers
pass unseen and spread spent seed
to sprout and die in breeding beds
that drove me toward shore through water and ice
over rigid marshes and crackling reeds
leaving the sterile land of stone
pushing off sailing on at least alone
Over my shoulder I look back
toward the wave-beat shore
to waving hands
high over feet lost in hot sand
feet that have never left that monochrome shore
Over the gray hands I see
shadows of things left behind
books, pressed flowers, a song
a name gone faint on the wind
leaving no melody to honey my mind
Over the rim to open water
no shore only light in two shades
crystal water refracts and splinters light below
above the circling water rim
iciclestars’ dim white glow
The next morning, our old teacher seems dull
and none the better for the night whereas
we have robbed, cheated death, and lived to tell
Here, the teacher voices cheerily
lessons with such melody and brightness
that I’m torn between this peaceful graybeard
and the green-eyed outrider with no fear
Tonight I don’t stop to see the teacher
but instead go with Jani once again
Still I wish I could tear myself in two
and be with both – one to hold my heartache
one to slash the rules and show what is fake
In three days, I stay once again to see
the teacher who as before hums a tune
and waits for me to say what I’m wanting
“It’s me again,” I say. He whirls around
as if he hasn’t noticed me at all
we both know he has but choose to ignore
“Glad to see you,” he says brightly – no more
“Something happened,” I try to spark his interest
“Oh?” says he and maddeningly waits for me
“On the tower.”
“Ooooooh!” Now I certainly have his interest
But again he waits for me to go on
“I saw something when I climbed to the top.”
“I am not surprised. It is quite a view.”
“How do you know!? You have not been up there.”
“Oh, I climbed it more than once in my youth.”
I am startled but also encouraged
“It’s a very tempting place, don’t you think?”
He says this quietly like a secret
I suppose it is but I am doubting
that he has really climbed it, so I ask
“What did you see when you reached the very top?”
“I saw my future,” he says seriously
“Me too,” I say in a voice so small it
is a feather falling from that tower
Jani falling fast beside it – nearing
brightness like a star between dark storm clouds
then a feather rising on wispy wind
farther off floating down toward ground again
“I’d like to hear more if you want to say”
(I don’t know why but it feels safe to tell)
“When I was up there everything below
got small, shrunk way down – I could hardly see.
I know for sure this town looked like a speck –
even smaller than I thought it would be.”
“Yes, I remember seeing that. What else?”
“At the same time everything felt bigger
“At the same time everything felt bigger
and so did I. It reminded me of
the dreams I have when I can really fly.”
“Those dreams are wonderful!” he says and I
“Those dreams are wonderful!” he says and I
am once more amazed that he knows this too
“What else?” He leans toward me. He wants to know.
(And I want to tell him this and much more
Things I‘ve never told anyone before)
“When I was a kid, I used to believe
that I could fly – even when I was awake –
like a dream but better ‘cause I’m alert”
I stop to see his reaction. Will he
think I’m lying? Will he make fun and laugh?
“Why did you stop just now?” is all he asks
I pull back and raise my eyebrows. I don’t
remember stopping. I just don’t recall
He sees my trouble and tries to help me
“Tell me about the last time that you flew.”
“Okay,” I say reaching back claws and wings
I close my eyes and see blue – then black and
bits of color that seem alive – focus
harder I tell myself – a transparent
wing spreads out – black-veined from deep blue body
“The blue dragonfly!” I shout. “I see him!”
“So beautiful,” sighs my teacher. “Where are
you going with this long-winged blue dragon?”
“Anywhere! Everywhere! Away from here!”
Fragile wings fade and blur leaving the room
My eyes pop open as I hit the ground
“Ouch! Rough landing, eh?” the teacher chuckles.
“But you can take off anytime you want.”
“Gosh, I forgot I knew how to do that!”
I say disregarding the rough return
that doesn’t matter compared to the flight
“Don’t try that from any towers,” he says
and knocks his fist against his lined forehead
“I thought I might jump when I was on top.”
“I know. Me too. It is very tempting
but our part that flies is not the same
as our heads that hit the ground and smash like
melons only with much more blood and mess.”
“I’ll remember that,” I say and chuckle
“What’s the part of us that can fly?” I ask.
“That’s a question each of us can answer
if we keep asking and don’t forget how.”
“Do you still fly? Do you still remember?”
“Oh yes, but not so far as I once did.”
“Why not? It is better than on the ground.”
“Well, after time, flying is not needed.”
“How come? Tell me. I cannot imagine”
“Because far away is the same as here.”
“Not in this town!” I say with new fluster
“Forgive me, but for me it is just so.”
“I am different. I’m getting out of here.”
“Of that I am certain. It’s very clear.”
“I cannot wait. I’d leave now if I could.”
“No doubt. So, keep practicing your flying.”
He rises now. It’s time to go I see
I head for the door and turn back to see
if he is watching me this time. He is.
I raise both my arms slow above my head
arch my hands like feather tips then pull down
strongly as I smile back at my teacher
and he mirrors my wings – his head thrown back
laughing, shaking long-haired silver feathers
I see he is no stranger to the sky
I see he has been there, the same as I
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So it goes with these two for winter months
I, a swinging pendulum between two lives—
The teacher, a warm flowered summer breeze
Jani, the storm in my cut-loose rigging
The teacher speaking of birds, stars and flights
Jani saying only what is needed
too busy sailing full before the wind
and me – the landless gull dipping for scraps
bobbing behind in the green wake’s froth
One day, unlike other days, I am with
my teacher long after dark – I know that
Jani waits for me out in coldest night
but something holds me back -- I hesitate
feeling an end to matters without names
My teacher’s words touch me from a distance
Tonight, my omen-heart stays with Jani
At last I say goodnight and rush outside
where Jani waits as always, kicking snow
No more questions about the time within
pass between us as we troll the town’s streets
On the way, Jani scouts for the usual
trouble – locks left open – unguarded goods
but it is a night so calm and placid
that all seems tucked safe from Jani’s dark mood
Down the road a classmate of ours hobbles
I recognize the limping gait – a boy
we know from our classroom. Jani picks up
the pace suddenly, and I wonder why.
The boy isn’t our friend – too slow – too simple
for the likes of us – but Jani pursues
one-pointed – slides out the knife with purpose
I run fast to keep up and hiss, “Jani!”
No response and now Jani runs out front
The boy sees us. He tries to run away.
Like a tiger, Jani stretches long legs
to close the distance – knife blade shines one claw
The boy’s hoarse cry rasps in his fear-choked throat
as Jani leaps on him with beast-like spring
makes one long slash casts the boy off and runs
The boy sits bleeding on the frozen road
blood pure and bright red-spattering white snow
I see the gash in his shoulder above
his heart as I stop and look from it to
Jani’s shadow falling into slippery dark
The boy gets up clasping hand to shoulder
His eyes lock mine in a question I have
never seen – like a dog cut for no reason
–careless wounding of a kindly beast
The boy screams out and I see the cry is
meant for me – he fears I too have a knife
That I, too, bring death on this twisted night
I shake my head ‘no’ but he’s already
gone dragging crippled leg, assaulted arm
and all there’s to do is run for Jani
I catch up out of breath. Jani slows down.
“Are you crazy!?” I pant toward his shoulders.
“He’s a weakling cripple!” Jani hisses.
“We’re really in trouble, Jani!” I blurt
“You’re safe. I will swear you tried to stop me”
“But why do it? He means nothing to us!”
“That’s the whole point. He’s nothing! He is dust!”
“It is too much, Jani! What’s after this!?”
“Nothing for me. We’re all leaving again.”
“What do you mean leaving again and when?”
“In just a few days from what they tell me.
Something my father did this time at work.
I may as well make my own trouble too
I’m one of them, you know! I’ll always be.”
“You can’t leave, Jani! You’re my only friend!”
“That’s not true. You’ve got your precious teacher,”
Jani grimaces in a sniveling voice
“And now I’ve cut that kid they won’t let you
be with me for fear of what I might do.”
“They can’t stop me! I’ll say that boy attacked”
“It doesn’t matter! Don’t you see? I’m gone!
Disappeared. A flash and I’m dead. Go on!
Go home! Get away from me, you coward!”
“Jani! You can’t mean what you are saying!”
“Get away! I’ll cut you too, you moron!”
Jani’s knife, left-handed, is blood-bent ready
“Jani,” I whisper backing away now
The knife slashes right and then left – just short . . .
It’s done, I see. All there is left now is
walk fast away from Jani which I do
but not before I hear a wracked hoarse sob
rising like curdled smoke from Jani’s throat
I turn back now, reaching out my right hand
“Get away!” Jani growls and cocks the knife.
This time I do and I do not look back
I don’t see Jani again in those days
A harborless sailor out on humming sea
I imagine my friend dark against a
weather horizon, out in the howling
yelling downward from the masthead rigging,
“Get away!
Go now, my knife is ready for your heart!”
The voice dims and fades though the slanting storm’s
shadow rises up blacker overhead
Jani did not belong here, nor do I
I will not forget this, I swear an oath
I’ll show this pitiful town what we were
if I must split myself and half become her
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A month goes by that seems more like a year
People ask me where Jani is. I say,
“How should I know?” and “None of your business!”
because I don’t know and they do not care
My teacher asks how things stand now with me
I know if I answer I will surely
tell the truth and that’s hard enough to keep
inside me where it’s hidden well and safe
If I tell him the shadows interred there
I know that I will fall in –disappear
So, I say nothing but “I am all right”
He does not believe it but favors me
by sadly smiling, and not asking more
Every night I climb the tower remembering
I climb fast and reckless not caring if
I miss a step – fall like the three-inch knife
That would be easiest and least trouble
The first morning watch would find me broken
cold-dead and crumpled below the tower
Instead I sit on the platform under
icy stars thinking – figuring what to do
to be – now that she is gone -- not with me
Part of me is glad she is – another
part wants to be with her, backs to the sea
I see the crippled kid who blames Jani
in the end, not me, just as Jani said
He keeps insisting on showing me his
slashed shoulder in the progressive stages
getting well – like an old, submissive dog
turning belly up for another slash
This hurts the most because it keeps showing
the part of Jani I am glad is gone
the part of me I am afraid is here
When the crippled kid keeps on coming back
I yell at him to stay away from me
It is quite clear this hurts me more than him
the way he looks at me from a distance
waiting for me like a hungry puppy
While I am caught between my bristling words
and something harder, nameless, poisoning
like a serpent hidden under blankets
I do all the work the teacher asks for
I stay away from home more – no one but
the crippled kid seems to notice if I’m
around – even the teacher stops asking
The house I live in is where I eat, sleep
and dodge the noisy people who are there
busy dealing with their own ghosts to care
as long as I make no more trouble there
The Spring brings warm nights and I stay longer
at the tower watching the moon arc up
true, white and constant, even when it rains
a pale light comes through the gray curtain-clouds
I leave only because I fear rolling
off the platform in my sleep and because
those at home will make a fuss come morning
As warmer days roll out the green grass fields
spread out from the tower, and the teacher’s room
grows hot and small so I cannot breathe there
I take extra food as I leave home each
morning, head out of town toward the river
where the trees make concealed, quiet places
I return for more food late in the day
and head as always for the tower at night
It can’t last – I know it – the others will
make me go back to the teacher’s small room
While it endures, I’ll chew on every weed
turn each gray stone and stir river’s waters
The freedom is like a red fruit I bite
and suck and swallow letting the sweetness
paint my throat blood-red and swirl down darkly
On the tower, I look out to the edge
where the black circle meets the purple sky
I listen to the white stars’ humming drone
and watch their paths across the vaulted dome
I can count on them – they are always there
the stars – the sky – the moon – the pulsing sound
They ask no questions – but they point southbound
I feel the smell of town peeling off me
like dead skin off a snake at molting time
I feel the part of me that flies spreading
blue wings unfurling from my back at night
I feel all right these days since Jani left
I see her now – she’s always upside down
hanging from her knees on the bright cross-spar
of a tall triple-masted sailing ship
daring that thin bar – willing it to break
She hangs suspended and she never falls
I’m the one who is falling into place
I see Jani’s grin set ‘round savage teeth
From this distance, I can see her clear heart
to remember Jani and to wish her
towers and masts to climb all her lovely life
Because I understand her leaving now
as the single way it could be done at all
to make it easier for both of us
to get her gone and get me on my way
Around all this I shape a perfect bubble
to contain all the world and hold it still
I repeat this story again, again
until I cannot tell where I begin
and Jani ends in the cold stars between
In the ninth month of floating in my bubble
I hear a sound below the tower where no
sound should be because tonight is windless
a sound like something dragging cross the grass
It could be a snake, I guess – but it sounds
much larger than any snake I have seen
I strain my ears but hear only pulsing
in my head – my own heart thumping faster
Now again the hiss of rustling grasses
I feel a tremor from a foot placed on
the tower ladder hanging down below
Something – someone is climbing up to me
Suddenly relieved I call out, “Jani!?”
up the ladder with grunts and wheezing breath
This is not Jani! This is not her breath!
“Who are you!?” I try to sound threatening
but my voice cracks and gasps betraying me
No answer as this hidden one climbs up
“Get off my tower!” I shout with more success
“Your tower!?” pants a voice from halfway up
I know this voice but its name is hazy
and in trying to place it I forget
fear and anger as the shade keeps climbing
Suddenly, it’s clear! I can’t believe it!
Now I know what to do and do it fast
“Don’t you dare come up here! I’ll push you off!”
“No, you won’t.” But the steps have halted now
“I swear I will!” but my voice sounds weaker
“Let me come up. I need to talk to you.”
“Get out of here. I want to be alone!”
“No, you don’t or you would be somewhere else.”
“I’ll push you off,” My resolve is weakening.
“Go ahead. I don’t care.” This is said with
such truth and sorrow that I find the voice
an echo within my tears burning now
I scuttle to the farthest corner
I am silent as he tops the platform
drags his crippled leg up and over, groans,
crawls to the middle breathing heavily
He sits down, lays his left bad leg straight out
rubs his wounded shoulder, then his thigh bone
I’m not sure what to do but I’m curious
so I just wait for him to catch his breath
I can’t believe this skinny kid has climbed
my tower – burst my silence – risked his death
“It’s not yourtower, by the way,” he says
“I used to climb it all the time before
you and Jani took it as your hideout.”’
(I am at a loss, so I keep quiet)
“I was here that first time when you climbed with
the kite that didn’t fly. I think Jani
saw me too but I’m not sure. Anyway
I have not been back here until tonight”
“Why now? Why come now after all these months?
“I knew you would be here. I need to talk
to you and you haven’t been around much”
“What about? Why me?” But I think I know
“You’re the only one who was there that day.”
“Where?” I ask but I know all too well “where”
“When Jani knifed me, of course!” This sharply.
“Of course,” I say and listen quietly.
“When you’re around at least there’s someone else
who really knows what happened. That’s why I
kept showing you the cut, you know,” he says
and looks at me like I should understand
I just wait as if to say that I don’t
“Everyone else makes up their own stories”
They make Jani out as a monster and
me as weakling. You, they just can’t figure.
The stories make you turn out some of both.”
I nod but I still do not understand.
“I’ve heard so many versions I’m not sure
what happened. I think I have it, but then
it gets all confused. It was okay when
you were there, even though we didn’t talk.”
“So, what is it that you want me to do?”
“Tell me what happened and why she did it.”
“Jani cut you and then she left. That’s all.”
with measured patience
“You know what I mean.” He looks down his nose
“I wish I knew.”
“I think you do.”
He is right of course. I have been thinking
of very little else since the knifing
I slide closer to him. Now I want to
say what’s true for my sake but more for him
A warm flush spreads through my entire body
Dry tingling shimmers up and down my arms
and back and neck like snapping static sparks
galvanizing all the parts and reasons
I have been mulling over all these days
Instantly, all the parts pop together
and I know the story as it once stood
there like so many waiting messengers
When I speak, this knowing surely can’t say
a word that isn’t true, misread, misjudged
“I think it was Jani’s way of leaving
She knew I couldn’t go with her and now
I think she knew you could take the knife cut.”
I’m shocked at how easily all these words
emerge from my heart, out my open mouth
A warm night wind blows up in swirls weaving
smells of new grass and moist earth in the dark
I see he is thinking all this over
seeing how it fits and how true it feels
“Yes, that seems right. Jani never said much
but she knew a lot. Guess she knew us both.”
He’s quiet and he appears to agree
“It makes more sense than the things I heard like
‘Jani’s just from bad blood,’ or ‘Hart is such
a dolt. He’s not one of us?’ they said”
“Your name is Hart,” I say like I didn’t know
“I know this leg makes it easier to
simply call me ‘that crippled kid’ not Hart”
“I’m sorry. It must be tough to be you”
“No, you’re not and yes, it is.” He guffaws
“No really. I understand how you feel.”
“No, you don’t! How could you!? No one can know!
You and Jani just decide not to be
one of the others. I don’t get a choice!
I can’t be with them even if I want.
I see he’s right. I start to see many
things but I do not know how to say them
So I say, “I miss her, and I’m sorry”
No response but I did not expect one
For a long time, we just sit side by side
looking out toward Chickopee’s yellow lights
We sit like that. We don’t say anything
just watch the blue-white moon light the flat land
I feel a fading and a brightening
I feel something fine rise inside my chest
Hart seems content for now with what’s been said
Somewhere at sea, Jani leans against a mast
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From that night on, Hart and I are seldom
separate, saying little and sitting much
The others shrug and look surprised at us
We are still the odd ones so no matter
We have simply morphed into deeper strange
Like a ship, we move through the rolling waves
We follow the currents leaving a wake
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the first month of summer, Hart and I
wade to a river sandbar’s shallow ledge
When we get hot, we swim, when tired we sleep
on sand in the middle of the river
We’re the only ones here because the rest
hang around the edge of Chickopee where
a cracked old dam holds the river back and
makes a quiet pool for safer swimming
But we want to feel the coursing current’s tug
and listen to the flow, and think of where
the water’s been and if it could only speak
Lying on the warm sand, saying nothing
I doze over the edge and into dreams
I flow honey-smooth out of my body
make myself thin as wind
slide between leaves of sunlight skin-to-skin
against old trees with fat honey bees
who take me inside their trunks and hives
where rich thick amber rivers run
clasped silent in this wise old wood
safe in the guarded yellow-honey nest
I wake for a moment and turn my head
toward Hart who sleeps face up, moist lips parted
I close my eyes and turn my face sunward
I sigh softly thinking Hart might be the one
I move closer to the steep river ledge
lay back down letting water lap my feet
I think about the honey and the trees
and follow them back into warm profound sleep
Diving deeper
beneath ambered rivers and honeyed hives
I find endless sea and seek its bottom
where starfish limbs grow my divided self
all scattered on the seafloor’s gray-green bed
Settling gently
on the sand amid my blue starfish selves
all of us looking up to inverse waves
finding our reflections above the sea
white-hot points of light – mirror parts of me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When summer and river runs are almost
over, I keep thinking of the gray-haired
teacher, so much that before we must go
back, the urge to see him rises strongly.
I ask Hart if he will go there with me.
As always, he blends with my intention
as I do with his if nothing prevents
“Let’s go now. He may be there already.”
Harts nods yes but with crinkled eyebrows asks,
“Do you have a reason to go right now?”
“He has been on my mind and this seems like
the right time but I can’t say why that is.”
“It doesn’t matter. I was just curious.”
Soon we enter the familiar room grown
tinier than memory can conjure
He is here, the same, but somehow different
gray hair longer with a bit more silver
his stooped back to us as he reads and writes
I can tell he knows that we have arrived
but in his usual fashion he just reads
and waits for us to announce ourselves
I’m used to this and so I say, “Hello!
Wondering if you have time to talk to us?”
Without turning, he twists his neck up and right
“I know that voice.” He pauses. “Let me think.”
He taps his forehead, tries to find my name
I grin and Hart looks confused at this old
game I am so used to. I wave my hand
and signal Hart that I will take the lead
“A voice from the distant past,” I say with
mock drama, in a high tremulous voice.
Still, he does not turn around, so I add,
“Two humble students come to honor you
oh, great teacher.” I kneel and bow pulling
Hart down beside troubling his bad leg
Next our teacher turns with equal drama
and with wild gestures greets us boisterously
while raising us to our feet and into chairs
“Why yes, I do remember both of you.
The wayward one come from conquering gables
and one whose wisdom walks the crooked path.”
Hart likes this and joins in the playfulness
“Yes, we have forded rivers, fought demons
and climbed great towers to see the wider world.
Now we are here with a crucial message . . .”
Hart pauses and looks pleadingly at me
for help with his lines in this drama
dropping out of the little theater’s play
“A message!” beams the teacher. “Perhaps news
or a warning or a bold prophesy!”
He wants to stay on the bright-lighted stage
He waits for one of us to deliver
on the promised dispatch but none comes forth.
“We just came to talk,” I say with a shrug
“Then talk we will,” he says and all of us
willingly drop the curtain on our play
“So, how are you?” he asks searching my face
then Hart’s, then stares into my eyes again
“All right, I guess,” I answer looking down
“How you are is not for guessing, rather
for finding out though demons block your way!”
The teacher thrusts at some phantom, slashing
stabbing with an imaginary sword
(This is much too close to Jani’s knifing)
“Try again? Why come visiting today?”
As he asks, I think I know the answer
a warm flush rushes down my neck and back
From deep inside a question bubbles up –
truly, three or four sparkle on my tongue
“Where are you from? What did you do back there?
and why come here to this horrible place?”
“Why ask? To reply, I must know that first”
To this I am silent but Hart speaks up
and says for both of us a truth I did
not know we shared until this very hour
“This is a hard town to live in – so cruel
to the likes of us – full of selfish people
True they can be kind but that’s a gamble”
I am caught off balance for in our talks
Hart never spoke clearly of his feelings
The air shifts, discharges, grows heavier
a force rising up to drawing us closer
I add what may be a repetition,
“If we could know your story – why you stay?”
“What will you do with my long-old story?
Paint a description on a ragged kite
and send it fluttering from a tower
for every gawker to stare and point at?”
He laughs but he still expects an answer
Direct and deep I look into his eyes,
“You know I have to leave here very soon
I don’t know anyone who has but you”
“We will leave together,” Hart interjects
A second surprise since we have never
talked about it, but I’m glad to hear this
I look at him. He nods vigorously.
I accept this as a joint commitment
even though the timing and place are odd
The teacher mellows, waits, then speaks to us
“It’s very good to have a friend along
when you leave a place, you have always been.
When I left, I had a great friend with me.
We left together from this very town.”
“Tell us,” I urge moving my chair forward
“We went to war as soldiers; came back whole
then I married, had a small shop; she died
then I shipped out and traveled scores of years
Now I am here.”
“What happened while you were gone out to sea?”
“I thought it would be obvious to you”
“The war ended, but not for too many.
My wife died. My shop fast grew out of date.
Then the oceans took me most everywhere
every place I could ever want to see.
Through it all, I became what I could be
When I came back all was the same, but me.”
We all sit in silence, saying nothing
The teacher gazes over our two heads
toward the windows, and I wonder what
he might see now. He closes his eyes
breathes in long and slow and smiles – finally
he breaks the quiet, nods at us and says,
“My life has seen more than most. I’m content.
He waves a finger side to side, rising.
“But you can’t leap from here to where I am.
I could tell you all of it – every jot –
sad, small, momentous, joyful – all of it
would make little difference to your journey.
That is one true thing I’ve learned through my years.
Nothing happens based on a single cause
Take your burning wish to leave this poor town.”
He stops,places a hand on my shoulder
“If it weren’t for all of us living here
your focused flight would have no fuel to burn.
If our lives meant a thing at all to you
you would need something else to push against.
As it is, we’re the ones who set your path
on fire so you can run loosed from us all.”
“Not you,” I whisper half-ashamed he thinks
that I want to get away from him, too
“Don’t fool yourself. Nothing and no one moves
by internal power alone. It only
seems we rise up singly to take action.
Every moment of our lives is webbed close
with one another, even when we’re dead
Trust me. This is not an accusation.
Don’t believe the lie of separation.”
Hart is staring slack-jawed at this teacher.
I feel like I’ve been lectured while Hart looks
like he is in the presence of a ghost.
I forget the teacher is new to Hart
Yes, the classroom with everybody else
Not the private time I’ve had for a year
I must rescue Hart andgive an answer
Hart closes his mouth – speaks as from a trance.
“I’ve never seen my leg that way before –
something to push against to find out who
I am, not just a poor little cripple
I am different and I always will be
Anybody can just fall into line
with everyone else to say they’re okay.”
The teacher leans forward, puts one hand
on one each our knees, and he says to me
“This Hart is a friend you won’t often find.
It’s good to know you can see that. Most can’t.”
“I would have missed him but for Jani’s knife.”
Cascades of connections swirl together.
At once, I see that Hart is Jani’s gift
whether by intention or accident.
The teacher leans back and slaps both his thighs,
“Well, in a few more years all this will be
stashed in your memories, and out of your lives.
It’s all quite natural for the likes of you.”
He spreads his arms wide and cracks a broad grin,
“But when you’re flying high and looking down
here, recall it was here you learned to fly –
this nest your fledgling wings ache to depart”
We leave the teacher’s room walking lightly.
“That was really good,” says Hart quietly.
I’m lost in untangling the teacher’s words
“Yes. It was far more than I got before.”
“Maybe you can hear more now you’re older.”
“Maybe but it might be he’s never said”
“I guess we’re ready if we heard it! Ha!”
Hart cuffs me on my shoulder and chuckles
“Guessing is for old fools and for children.”
“We’remeant to know!” I say, and cuff him back
“You know we can leave any time we want.”
“Yes, I see that. I never thought the day
would come. But let’s decide tomorrow, Hart
Right now, it’s getting dark, and there’s a tower
begging to be climbed.”
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