There was once

Old Maggie.
You lived here, and to this day it stands, guarded by posterity. A testament, at least, to the spring steel backbones of your times. Not a curve to its roof, or a lean to its timbers. As upright as you always were, I reckon.

I’ll be seventy next year. When I was one tenth of that, my mother took me to see you for the first time. There were no smiles or caresses, only a stern sizing-up with your raven-like gaze. At mother’s instructions, I was not to call you Granny or Grandma or names of such ilk. And certainly not Maggie. It was to be Grand Mother, and that was the end of it.
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While Mum and Grand Mother spoke in quiet tones, or went out to the garden, I was left to play with the ancient piano, and was told not to touch anything else in the house. Grand Mother had one of those little yappy dogs, and when it wasn’t vocalizing, it was doing circuits of the house, seemingly trying to get me to follow. I did take a curious look around the place, avoiding the touching of anything but the floor. Lots of small dark tables with doilies on them. Pictures on the walls (all straight), of Sons in the Army and Air Force. All of perfect posture and grim aspect. Curiously, an old rag doll sat on the kitchen counter. And, in the back mudroom, some animal skins tacked to the walls, next to a rack of rifles and shotguns. Grand Mother was a widow by that time, but Grand Dad’s effects were never disturbed.

[Why was Mum afraid of you? My little boy’s instinct told me that, right away. In our short time there, she seemed to always be wanting your approval, and your stern expression never changed.]

We stayed long enough for a silent dinner, and then Grand Mother went to her bedroom and brought out an old leather change purse. I remember it being heavily bound with elastic bands. She took from it a rolled wad of paper (more elastics) and gave it to Mum. And then, it was time to go home.

When we got to Toronto, Mum solemnly gave me the first paper money I had ever had of my own. It was five dollars, on the instruction of Grand Mother. A fortune to me. The last time I saw her was three years later, at her funeral.

Upon Mum’s death, some forty years later, we had to clean out her apartment. In her old trunk, wrapped in tissue, was Raggedy Ann.

 

The gathering

In the late fall morning of frost and fog, they came. Many without even their coats. Little ones in borrowed rubber boots. Women still in nightclothes. None could put to words the why of it. Each were surprised by chance meetings with fellow walkers, as their ranks grew. All had a sense of quickening excitement.

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They knew to gather at the tumble-down wall of stone, built by men in ages beyond their memory.  At seven of the clock, with the warming sun beginning its climb, they heard one who spoke to all.  In his words, they were called good.  The ones who had kept faith.  Now, they were to prepare, for they were to be saved.  Five days after the first snow, they must send a messenger to the Wide Wood, to speak of their readiness and hear what they must do.

There were three sisters who lived apart in the land.  They were known for their mercy to the poor, and for their tending to the sick.  In a meeting of the townsfolk, they were chosen to be the messengers.  The first snow came and stayed, and, in the time left, they went about to the houses of home, helping with what was needed, and blessing the people.

On the day appointed, Ilona travelled long by bicycle.

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Irina and Ingrid walked apace, for they were close to the wood.  They had never strayed long into the forest, and were in fear of being lost in the gloaming, when they heard Ilona’s voice calling along the cool evening air.

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By a standing stone, evening-lit in a mushroomy glow, the sisters were well met at last.  At seven of the clock this November night, they held each other’s hand, and put their faces to the stars.  They sang a song of readiness, their steamy breath rising in the lime light.  Their angel was revealed, and sung to them of surety, of the sadness of the world, and the madness.  On the morrow, they would receive a sign.

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paintings by Aron Wiesenfeld

Miss Maven and the Raven

MISS MAVEN AND THE RAVEN

Sweet Maven was handsome,
and worth a King’s ransom,
but headstrong and haughty was she.
She spurned all her suitors
and mastered her tutors
in matters of lore and Faerie.

Now, her father and mother
and soldierly brother
were vexed with her contrary ways.
And they thought if they let her
alone, t’would be better,
to do what she willed with her days.

In a willow she fashioned,
with whimsical passion,
a cradle of moss for herself.
And, in comfort exceeding,
she took to her reading
of the land of the Fairy and Elf.

But too long did she tarry,
alone and unwary,
and the treacherous moon cast a spell.
In her mesmeric sleeping,
the darkness came creeping,
and followed her down to the dell.

Maven woke to a flapping
and a curious tapping,
and in the moon’s glow she could see
with an aspect malignant,
and blackest of pigment,
a raven had perched on her knee.

The willow was creaking
when the bird began speaking
with a sweet and a buttery tongue.
And he sang all her praises
and told her of places
in want of a princess so young.

His Maven, said he,
as a Queen she would be,
and the people would bow at her feet.
(As he spoke, she came near.
She had lost all her fear,
and his flattering spell was complete.)

So she bent down to listen,
and her wild eyes would glisten,
but an ugliness came to her face.
And what once was so merry
and bright as a fairy
A countenance grim did replace.

‘Twas a sight to behold,
for she’d grown very old,
like a visage had come from the tomb.
But the Raven, he rendered
a spell that would send her
to the land of bewitchery’s broom!

***

Art by http://janaheidersdorf.com/

25: Go ask Alice

mmm..
was it that hot dog I had off the coffee truck?
wrapped in plastic
smelled a little funky
ate it anyway
found a peanut, found a peanut
found a peanut last night
dee leery
del eerie
delirium I am in, that’s it
-why are my toes so far away?
cords of gristle connecting to ankle pulleys
oh man
gotta gotta get outa bed
I have too much juice
-where’s the floor? there’s only an escalator
always a scared of those things, no confidence
-does my Auntie dote on me?
-hahaha what is the antidote?
step on the steps, fool
move your legs in the proper rhythm
oh geez here we go-
but I am too speedy
the escalator must be stopped for repairs
and I do a smashmouth on the doorknob.
oh momma momma this is real
one tooth too short, the rest is up my nose
bright blood on two of my hands
take away take away show in the light
this must be the antidote
it is a technical knockout
bye bye

74

Elle’s verse , remembering a life left behind.

ELLE's avatarelleguyence

standing out on the back porch
looking out on the suburban sprawl I
called home my whole childhood,
imagining all the quiet moments of
what I swore I wouldn’t miss:
cookie dough and street hockey
and whispering on the landline

I imagine all the time that has passed
years and years and years
stacked like pancakes my father
used to burn on the stove.
time came and went,
the stove was replaced, gone
and my sweet tooth, gone
and suddenly I was gone, too

I hear a voice call me back inside
to come back to bed
I see the sidewalk split in two
from all I remember and all I wish I wouldn’t forget
and for a split second,
I smell the sickly sweet of pancakes
and realize
memories are never kind, they
remind you of what you left behind.

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The spirits of today

[The scene:  Mister and Missus lie abed.  Morning light begins to filter in, but the snooze goes on and on.  Their eyes are their own, for a last time.  Two phantom faces, etched in smoke, circle the ceiling.]

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[RIMIDALV]  It is time.  Let us go.

[MIK]  Which one do you want?

[RIMIDALV]  You take the lumpy one.

[MIK]  Hah!  I think you just lost out!

***They enter into these two temples***

[RIMIDALV]  Ooh…you are right.  This is a bad feeling.

[MIK]  Do you think it will be a lengthy time before we learn the moves?

[RIMIDALV]  Nonsense.  We’ve had similar before.  Use the muscles, rise from bed.

***Mik sits up, stands, slides one foot ahead of the other***

[MIK]  Look!  I did do it!  Now you.  What’s the matter?

[RIMIDALV]  I don’t know.  The stiffness, the fog.  I think this one was a student of sloth.

[MIK]  Then give it some exercise.

***Rimidalv rises and does a few jumping jacks.***

[RIMIDALV]  The blood pumper doth protest.  We must lie and get some rest.

[MIK]  Sleep through the day…deal?

[RIMIDALV]  Yes, we will need the energy.  Tomorrow is a big day.

[MIK]  By the way, did these things have names?

[RIMIDALV]  Let’s look.

***They both smile, close the curtains, and jump into bed***

[RIMIDALV]  Goodnight, Mel.

[MIK]  Goodnight, Don.