She buys ginger and mangos but neglects them until all the world’s fruit flies descend upon the kitchen. Voices seep out through windows and doorways, ghosts of past arguments inhabiting the souls of mangos turpentine as they molder not in the kitchen so skillfully renovated by strangers years ago, but on the ground beneath the trees in the lush, hastily-drawn country where the green bird flew from the cage through the open door into blue sky, royal palms, the street where he sang Jesus loves me this I know… then looked bewildered middle-of-the-road until she came for him. Did she tell him she would be there always or even then did she know that sometimes you have no choice but to leave love behind?
Matthew 13:34-35 KJV
 All these things spake Jesus unto the multitude in parables; and without a parable spake he not unto them:  That it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, saying, I will open my mouth in parables; I will utter things which have been kept secret from the foundation of the world.
Oh, so you know the Greeks? I ask you as you tilt your head and flash a wry smile “I know it all–all of you, all of this” the smile says. And I cannot help but love you.
We are sitting at my yellow girl-sized craft table, teetering on those little chairs they make for children so their legs won’t have to dangle and swing. So we can feel big when we are still little. Sip the most reassuring tea from my miniature plastic tea set. Reminisce about old times. I think it is amazing you have so much time for me–time for us when all around the stars spin and blink as by your hand —your strong right hand and your word sword-in-the-mouth word you speak infinite worlds into being
Always bigger than before.
The day before the storm the dogs ruled the yard leaving the small prophets to fend and worry.
Grieving, I am afraid, the loss of such fragile things, a nest, the children, promise of safety, when there never was much.
You enjoin me not to
Speak of the past
Which would work if there were no promises there
I am so sad you want to end the life of your child. Please let me know if I can help you, help change your mind. Help you and your little one….including sponsorship.
No clearly defined beginning of the problem, if it could be called that. No clear point when normal stopped being normal and started to feel itchily different. Like so many rites of passages or chronic conditions, it became noticeable gradually, over time with bits and pieces of things, jigsaw symptoms, sleepiness, lethargy, increased appetite then decreased appetite, the aversion or preference for certain foods, moodiness, a nameless dread, flushed skin, a strange rash along certain bone lines, the strangest feeling of weightlessness. She did not know what any of it signified nor did it ever occur to her to suppose that all the other humans her age were feeling a similar array of symptoms.
here is what is known:
- The squeak sounds tinny, electronic
- As though it came from the bottom of this
- deep historic stairwell
- Only heard at night
- It pings the depths in either a randomly-assigned, diabolically-complicated algorithm of beep-short silence-beep-long silence
- As though Morse code and a squeaky sneaker had a love child
- Love child, not exactly a fact, but I can see myself rising like a cartoon effigy of Scrooge, antiquated nightcap and tallow candle in hand and
- Searching the building for you, squeaky electronic ghost
- Is your battery loose? Why do you emit these little beeps
- So like a telemetry monitor only
- In this case the patient is
- Wide awake, thoroughly alarmed by what has to be broken-
- Monitor or heart