Join Us on the Edge
join us on the edge
where the moon
is a opalescent crescent
a divine, translucent
fingernail
outlining eternity
in the zen deep basalt
of speckled spacetime
look here
or don't
you'll see
when you do
we can wait
always maintaining
balance and diversity
the universe erupts
fireworks and flares
gain a pulsar pace
eventually, ultimately
arrive on a particle wave
of delight and wonder
don't worry, ever
it's happened
it's coming
it's all for you
Mirrored Falls
a provincial-born
city girl
fought her way out
from forced reclusion
they say we select
our parents
the when and how
of our conception
our provincial-born
city girl
has concluded
they say a lot
most of it utterly deluded
this prodigal daughter
under the neon din
and not the starry sky
found the strength within
she learned to dance
upon embedded concrete glitter
under a canopy of boulevard trees
while far above her head
shimmered the mirrored falls
of glass and steel skyscrapers
The Tall Man
St. Cat girls played field hockey for a solid month every October. Heavy rain came in November, and the grounds became a soppy mess and shortly after slabs of ice. They moved inside then and onto volleyball and then basketball, safe and dry in the St. Cat gymnasium. St. Gab had no gym. All sporting events were held outside, rain, shine, or snow. The clouds were low when the girls went in for lunch. When they came back out, the sky and earth had met entirely. Suffering builds stamina and character. The field was full of character and stamina on that January afternoon and—according to Porsche—who knew what else.
Den Mother Mourand lived up to her name in that she looked on the verge of death. She was tall and lanky with lifeless, obviously dyed red hair. Her skin was the color and texture of dried turnips. She smelled of her pack-a-day habit. She blew first into an inhaler and then into her whistle.
The ball dropped and the battle was on.
St. Gab girls took field hockey seriously. With the blow of the whistle, anyone in Stuart red and green tartan became the enemy, anyone in Tudor red and blue check, a comrade-in-arms. Pert young faces held the grimace of attacking pit-bulls: dogged, determined, and ferocious. When the Stuarts came, their sticks raised high, Amy and Bara acted on instinct and ran in the other direction. Things were easier for Amy. She was tall and had the legs to go with her height. She’d been given the job of forward. Adopting the tactic of being nowhere near the ball, she’d avoid harm. She wasn’t going to win any house points but wouldn’t break any bones either.
Bara wasn’t so lucky. She wasn’t as fast and was on defence. The Stuarts were the superior team. Her presence didn’t help the Tudor cause.
The Stuarts gained the ball from the drop and blew through the Tudor offence. Then they were on her. Just running wasn’t going to hack it. Bara bolstered her courage, positioned herself between the attacking forwards and the net, and attempted to hold her ground. The ground would be the victor. A tartan hip smashed into her red and blue checked one. Her feet lost footing. A nano-second later her bottom hit the wet earth. The other girl went by in a blur. A victory cheer announced the arrival of the Stuart ball in the back of the Tudor net.
Score, 1-0 for the opposition.
Her polyester gym shorts weren't waterproof. Bara sat stunned until she felt the wet seep through. Another Tudor came to her side and after rolling her eyes offered a hand and hoisted her back to her feet. It was then they were then joined by an audience.
Paul emerged from the tunnel connecting the girl’s field with the central courtyard. Given his ill-health, he was excused from athletics. He stopped on the edge of the field and leaned up against a cloister pillar. He was going nowhere. He’d come to watch. He’d come to watch Bara. Great! She wiped away at her wet butt and gained nothing but a muddy hand.
Mourand came to center field. She took another puff of her inhaler, blew on the whistle, and once again dropped the ball. The Tudors gained possession. If Bara were lucky, she need only pretend to know what she was doing. Bara had rotten luck. The Stuarts defense quickly overwhelmed the attacking Tudor forwards. Porsche shot the ball to the one unguarded Tudor—Bara. The Stuarts hadn’t covered her. They figured she had as much a chance of scoring a goal as a crow did singing an opera aria. Wonder. She received the pass. Get rid of it. There were no unguarded red and blue shirts. They were all blocked by Stuarts.
From the sidelines, Mourand hollered, “Go to the net! Go to the net!” So Bara went for the net. She made it just past the center line. Then came the wall of tartan. The entire Stuart team moved as one. Bara panicked and shot the ball away without aim. The gods intervened, and it made it to one of her teammates, but just as it left her stick, one body and then another hit. Her rapidly descending nose made contact with an equally rapidly ascending elbow. This time it was face first onto the wet sod she went. She slid a good five feet before stopping. The game continued until the forward she’d got the ball to scored. The game was tied, thanks to Bara. She couldn’t have cared less.
With the celebration that followed, the other Tudors didn’t notice her lying on the turf. Her humiliation had an audience of but one. A very slim, very white hand reached down. Bara looked up with her beautiful, heart-shaped face covered in mud, blood, and oh yes, snot—a lot of snot—to Paul with nothing but concern on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked.
He knelt and then teetered. She worried he might join her on the ground and put a hand out to steady him.
“You’re bleeding.” he gasped.
He regained his balance, produced a handkerchief from inside his cloak, and held it out. Obviously creeped-out by the sight of blood, he looked away. She accepted the handkerchief and wiped at her nose.
The Tudors finally stopped celebrating and noticed Bara sitting on the field. Her teammates surrounded her. They didn’t care about the blood, mud, or even the snot.
“Jolly show, Cavanagh!” A few shouted. “Nice pass!”
Amy and then Mourand broke through the crowd. They knelt on either side of her. “Oh dear,” Mourand exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”
The blood should have made that obvious.
“Is anything broken? Let me take a look.” After a moment, Mourand was satisfied. “I don’t think it’s broken, but we’ll visit the nurse. Just in case. We’ll have to call the game.”
Both the Tudors and the Stuarts groaned.
“There’s no need for that Den Mother Mourand,” Paul offered.
“I can take Bara and you can continue the game.”
Mourand beamed at Paul. He may be on the verge of death, or not. Bara still hadn’t decided who she believed on that front, Paul or Wort, but Paul held onto his southern charm. Despite their age gap, Mourand wasn’t immune. Through her ashen skin bloomed a rosy blush.
“That would be kind of you, Master Du Slâde.”
Paul and Amy helped Bara up.
Mourand peered at her bloody nose once again. “I really don’t think it is broken,” she reassured. “And you’re in good hands with Master Du Slade—and to the class—Let’s go girls. Back to the game.” Mourand looked once more with obvious and inappropriate longing at Paul and then was off and blowing her whistle again. The girls followed her back onto the field.
Amy held back.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“The bleeding has stopped,” Paul said.
Bara brought the handkerchief from her nose and re-dapped. The bleeding had indeed stopped. He was right.
“I’ll be okay,” she told Amy. “You should get back.”
“I’ll take good care of her,” Paul promised.
“Amy!” Mourand shrieked from the field.
Amy gave a shrug and returned to the game. Paul took Bara’s arm and led her away from the field. He had the most infuriating, satisfied smirk on his face. They entered the connecting tunnel. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“It really was a nice pass.”
***
Words and Images are my own.
Join Us on the Edge was first published today. Mirrored Falls is published in Monsters, Avatars, and Angels.
MAA, the Tall Man, and its prequel, the Wisp, are available in paperback or digital through amazon and your local libraries and bookstores. Click on any title below to further explore and support my writing.
Join Us on the Edge and the images are on permanent display. Mirrored Falls and the Tall Man will be removed in about a week.
Your words flow over, there is no stopping them. Tres excellente!
Thank you, Beauty:) Tres kind:)
Hope your day is going well:)
What a beautiful poetry, nice girl!
Thank you:):):)
Nice photography.
Thank you, Kam:)