I sit in my prison of cold steel and glass silent and the reflection before me looks without speaking. My eyes flutter as pages of a book, memories dancing of what was, of what will never again be; and somewhere a clock, relentless, ticks away the moments of my life as leaves blown over a stone bridge and into the serpentine river flowing, always flowing, below my vision.
My body sighs and I witness a vessel I neither asked for nor command, if I am honest. I raise my arms but the weight upon my shoulders is not of body and recognizes not the touch of muscle, labor and sweat. I stretch what cannot be stretched and as frogs dream of birds, I do it anyway and the dull ache, as I know it will, remains as if sewn into sinew and skin from underneath.
Queries come like rain but I lose them in the tears. My head spins and light seems dim and sharp, cutting my mind as paper cuts a finger. I try to move and, like an echo in the dark cave of my mind, I mock myself in the attempt. So I sit and I wait. I wait not as positive action, not as my will imposed on the universe. I wait because there is nothing else. Fate will speak when fate is ready. I have not been asked for an opinion. I have no say in the matter at hand. Judgment waits not on me.
Others move around me, and they seem as mechanical toys in a storefront window, moving to move. They look concerned; for me or for them, is not clear. I hear voices, but the words are unintelligible and I auger my ear, but the fault is not of body and I begin to wonder if it is even of mind. My chest holds its curve as it held it before, and to the naked eye would seem today as it was yesterday or the day before that; yet I feel a hollowness, an emptiness not even the overflowing heart of papa could fill.
I wish they could see me now. I wish they could know the flesh of me, feel my blood warm, grow cold. And so I glance at my comm. The call is coming. An answer is as forthcoming as the dawn. And I wonder why, anyone ever thought I had the courage to carry them.
6 comments:
Dedicated to my loving grandmother, a woman who personified the power of prayer and made me doubt my doubt. Tonight, she is knocking on heaven's door. I can only imagine the angels are rushing to open it. Godspeed. And grand, say hello to Papa when you see him.
Love,
Trée
Sweetie, am sorry for your loss. I remember when I first met you here online and you posted some pictures from your vacation, among them one of your grandmother framed against the ocean and the sky. She looked just like a grandmother, :-), everyone knows what that means. A wide loving smile, colourful, complete, cheerful.
This is a beautifully written post.
Big love and bear hugs to you.
In yet a different way, this post showcases the great writer that you are. Like a baby's breath it softly flows, yet to feel a baby's breath against ones cheek, life in breath, life in flow, life in hope and in love, it is full of significance.
This is the first time the word prison has been used to my knowledge, though more than once it has been, their inhabitation of a ship, in those terms. I have liked so the parallels drawn between being on the open sea and being in space, and all the more for the differences shown, where the sea seems is alive, there are smells, there are sounds, there is the physical touch, this vastness is something quite different, and you do a wonderful job of showing that in your writings. The infinity of it too, though the sea may seem that way when nothing marks the horizon there is still the knowledge that eventually every path would lead back to that very spot, whereas here one could be forever lost. Even Kulmyk, with all the trouble that may await them should they return, must hold some appeal of familiarity.
A prison, how loud that word is in the silence, silence outside only, not inside, not on the inside, with only so much room to manoeuvre and no escape, though the vessel may relocate itself, there is only so much room within to move around. This is such a wonderful opening passage, like a flash flood of thoughts, hers and the ones the matters immediately evoke in anyone else who considers for a moment the passage of time.
There is a slight indication in her words of not being in command that hint at what her decision may be, but in any case, to follow the paragraph before it, just as speaks of John in the chapter above, she seems more aware than ever of her limitations when it comes to the journey that she is on. This, I love: and the dull ache, as I know it will, remains as if sewn into sinew and skin from underneath.
This too; Queries come like rain but I lose them in the tears. With this chapter, I just want to put almost everything in italics, to hold it still and alone for just a moment, to highlight the sheer beauty, the simple genius of the words. The desire to at least indulge some of those is too strong. Another is the part that reads So I sit and I wait. I wait not as positive action, not as my will imposed on the universe. I wait because there is nothing else. Hollowness like shattered is a word that carries immeasurable weight, nestled within the description of the feeling throughout the chapter, followed by the words about Papa, the longing in them, the appreciation and admiration and love, that single word literally took my breath away.
It is quite simply a magnificent piece of writing. Her aloneness tangible, her feeling that nobody again/ever might know her completely and her acceptance of it, her familiarity with it, is what is most affecting. A hope to see a comment on this post that does justice to it, though I am not entirely convinced that it is possible, so touching, so beautiful is it.
The "vessel" in this piece, just to be clear, is not Bravo, but her own physical body. Just as she is a "prisoner" on Bravo, so too she feels like her mind and soul and heart is captured, imprisoned within the body, a body she did not ask for (birth) and one she does not command (hungry, pain, growth, disease, etc.). And then, there is the idea of fate, of riding on that vessel, again, a journey neither asked for nor one she can control.
In other words, as is probably clear and I am insulting my readers by stating the obvious, this whole piece is a cry to the gods, to Janus, a bowing of the head and heart (judge if you will) to powers neither understood nor appreciated. This is about as close as we have seen Kyra to capitulation. She wants to run away. She wants that "peace of Von." She wants the burden of leadership removed. She is frustrated that everyone thinks she has some special insight, some knowledge or wisdom that they don't. She feels as if, and we have seen this before, she is not seen for the flesh and blood that she is, but rather she is seen as a label, an idea. And she is not the idea. In fact, she feels, in this moment, about as far from that "idea of her" as she has ever felt. And most of all, she wants, needs, the arms of Papa, of someone, to hold her, and tell her she is perfectly okay just exactly as she is. Her cry is in the realization that is not going to happen. And this is where a person goes either left or right, so to speak. :-)
There is such emotion in this post - in all senses.
I am sorry to read of your Grandmother. I have always found this poem to be of great comfort - hope it helps.
"Death is nothing at all
I have only stepped into the next room
I am I, and you are you
Whatever we were to each other that we are still
Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way you always used
put no difference in your tone
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together
Play
smile
think of me
pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
let it be spoken without effect, without the ghost of a shadow on it
Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same as it ever was
there is absolutely unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident;
why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner
All is well."
~ By Henry Scott Holland
Miladysa, that was a beautiful poem and one I had not seen before. Thank you for taking the time and making the effort to respond. As funny as it may sound, a simple gesture such as yours makes a world of difference. Thank you.
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