butterfly wings

 

Little girl cups tiny hands around the wingspan of a Monarch. Pretty colors caught between her palms and she watches it slowly succumb to her touch. Wings once fluttering fervently now pass the minutes in slow motion dying. Watching with the cool curiosity of youth unfolded, she watches as the Monarch gives itself to her. It’s antennae curved and it’s wings splayed gloriously in a warm grave.  

Rising up from her knees, hands still cupped, she carefully places the butterfly in a sheath of plastic laminate and saves it for later.

Years pass by and memories fill amongst that of the butterfly trapped in the plastic sheath. Scents, dried flowers, letters and pictures. Nuances, hints, secrets and whispers. Turning the pages she goes through her life and she comes upon the Monarch almost turned to dust. 

Her eyelids closed, she recalls the vibrance of it’s colors; the tips etched in black, the segments red and orange. She can still see death in her hands … a reminder of the day she lost her faith in her heart. It died alongside the wings of the butterfly. Unsheathing the wings, she takes surgical steel and carves out the segments onto her chest where her heart beats. 

Scarred with the heat and cool of the blade against her freshly cut skin she smiles.

Memories found in pages lived out again in life.

She can feel the beat of her heart again … beating along the flutter of wings. 

 

The sun burned through a dampened, grey sky like molten lava. It was shocking, out of place, and all the same charming to her. Never had she viewed such a powerful sun, for it pushed it’s way through the wall of darkened skies and spread it’s burnt orange colors until they bled red and then gave the clouds back their territory. Symbolic to her, as many things were these days, she etched the vision to her memory for fear of never remembering the sight again. She wished she had other means to capture the heavens, she wished she could put it in a globe and keep it by her bedside. When she was lonely she could pick it up, see the clouds swirling an angry dance in the concave glass and in the middle she could see the fierce glow of the sun slowly start to burn it’s way through the storm. She could watch the big, fat raindrops splatter against the thick walls and lazily allow themselves to fall to the leveled bottom. It comforted her knowing the presence of her own strengths considering the time of year. All the same it was that time of year and she wished she could show him the sight she was seeing though in her dream like state she was sure he could see the same vision only at a different angle.

Her lips mouthed the words “that time of year again.” She always said it out of habit. Nearly a decade of wishing, wondering, hoping. Allowing herself to be enveloped in sorrow all over again and she was tired of it. He was ash, others were not and she lived in a state of fury, a state of pity. “… death in that place was not a decisive element that brought life to an end. There, death was but one of many elements comprising life.”  She scolded herself for her pathos and scorned the way she had carelessly thrown everyone else away. 

Looking up and seeing the sun powerfully make it’s way through a curtain of black, grey and white streaked sky made her come to a final resolution. To live for herself, for her family, for her dreams. In that instant she wanted to place a call and say she wanted to tell him a million things about a million different subjects because she wanted to begin everything from the beginning. That she didn’t want to be viewed as weak, she didn’t want to be alone, that she had been vacant but filled up all at once with the wrong things. 

She let the rain to wash away the last remnants of memories that were once brought back to life with hand written letters. Letters that were dug up years ago and in some sick malaise she always brought them alive in her mind by carefully reading them over and over. In a shallow gesture of goodbye she burned them in a hearth. She thought she had said her goodbye then. This time she gave ceremony permission to take over and finally heal.

Scents of sage, tobacco, hot rocks, and earth filled her up. She would feel her heart synchronize with the beating of the drums and she was safe again. In Mother’s womb she cried and she took to chanting. The words came to her again as if the murmurs were an old friend walking with her and holding her hand while she went through the stages of letting go. She could sing instead of moan and felt a calm caress her spirit. Everything was right again with her body, with her mind, with herself. She had self again and when it was all over she would be exhausted, thirsty and hungry.

Looking up at the sun as it made it’s decent in the horizon she smiled as those big, fat droplets of rain splashed against her cold cheeks. She knew she believed in something but allowed a membrane to form around her, disallowing her to truly touch anyone around her or allow reciprocity to happen. This time it felt as if the rain, along with the heat from the eerie presence of the sun melted it away and she could feel surfaces again. It was an understanding of death in life that she learned. 

“Death was not the opposite of life but an innate part of life.”

“comfortably numb”

“Hello. Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone home?”

“Come on, now. I hear you’re feeling down. Well I can ease your pain. Get you on your feet again.” … I close my eyes and a haze has begun. Darker shades of grey turning more black as it nears. I know this presence we’ve met many times before and as much as I want to run I know I must stay and endure the next while.

“Relax. I need some information first. Just the basic facts: Can you show me where it hurts?” I swallow hard … it stings. I feel as if something is pushing on my jugular disstressing onto my breathing patterns. I hated this feeling … my eyes water as I am unable to answer. Cold sweat beads form between my fingers and I feel the beginning of sweat form upon the nape of my neck as well. Shivering still, I feel a warmth upon my brow … a vast opposite to my current body temperature.

“There is no pain, you are receding. A distant ships smoke on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move  but I can’t hear what you’re sayin.” I feel my mouth opening and closing. I feel thirst and I lick my lips to stave off the feeling of taut dryness. I continue to speak the words I hear in my mind. I’m still unsure if he can hear me.

“When I was a child I had a fever. My hands felt like two balloons. Now I got that feeling once again. I can’t explain, you would not understand. This is not how I am. I have become comfortably numb.”

The tightness on my throat is increased as my breathing is becoming more shallow. The warmth on my forehead is replaced with an intense scalding heat and I feel the urge to convulse with the temperature change. My sensations are that of a flu bug … but it’s not a flu. It’s a practice I’ve become accustomed to and one that is ugly as my soul.

“OK. Just a little pinprick. There’ll be no more. But you may feel a little sick.” I feel a sharp jab in the side of my knee and I begin to feel the effects of fluid streaming out of my system. The liquid is warm, the needle is cold and I feel the urge to gag in response to the continual pressure both on my throat and the searing pain in my head. Dizzied I open my eyes and watch as a transparent vial slowly fills up and turns a pale murky yellow. My face is drenched with sweat and salty tears. I’m angry again though I know that what he’s done has been done many times before and it would help me. Everything in my life seems this way and I find it hard to not be bitter. He smiles in want of forgiveness and I stare back into his warm eyes while I grit my jaw tightly so that I don’t yelp out in pain. I look down at the contrasting yellow vial and the redness of my swollen joint. I relax my face and raise my eyebrows to the ceiling. He pulls the thick needle out, I watch a dark red seep out as he places a gauze over the tiny hole.

“Can you stand up? I do believe its working. Good. That’ll keep you going for the show. Come on it’s time to go.” He places my vial of fluid onto the counter and enters numbers into his computer database with a vested interest. He’s had it since I started seeing him and it made me ill and at ease both at the same time. I hated this feeling I had when I saw him. It was a mixture of hate and want, a solace and a hurt, a tension and a release. I wanted none of the pain, all I did want was to never have known this pain I carried. All I wanted was to be able to walk without the weight on my system.

“There is no pain, you are receding. A distant ships smoke on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying.” He is sitting on the stool and is telling me the same words I’ve heard before. I know the symptoms, things to look for, when to worry, when to come back.

“When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse, Out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look but it was gone. I cannot put my finger on it now. The child is grown, the dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb.”

I pull down my pant leg, swing both legs over the side of the table and stare bleakly at the direction of my knees. It was so frustrating being drained all the time. It was so frustrating feeling as if I was constantly losing everything I had put effort into. I was still angry after all these years. When would I forgive what I couldn’t control when would I understand. I limped out of the medical office and sat down in the reception area. Looking over I saw a young girl sitting with her parents. She was sucking on her fingers as her father whispered to her mother. I turned my face away and cried silently.

 

 

“lost in the atmosphere”

T h e T o u c h by Radiomovies

Honey jeweled eyes pled a song of sorrow to the reflection below him. I watched as he traced the rim of his snifter with the tips of his fingers and with caught breath I awaited for the tiny melody to match the tone of his mood. A slow melancholy was emitted and I heard a heavy sigh escape his mouth.

I pretended to mind my own business that night but could not help but notice that the gentleman was a perfectly coiffed mess with what seemed the weight of the universe on his back. I bent my head toward my wine glass and listened to the hollowed sounds of music wafting throughout the room. It’s notes melded with ones made from the gentleman and his glass made me feel empty inside. It was a feeling I would often run from because no one likes the feeling of emptiness, of unworthiness, of pure loneliness.

His bitterness seemed to permeate the air and caused a thickness that made the air stifling. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and couldn’t understand why a perfect stranger would make other patrons in the lounge so uncomfortable. Glancing at the other faces that were visiting that evening, there weren’t many, it seemed that I wasn’t the only one who noticed his anguish. I took a sip of the German white I had ordered and tried my best to savour it. It didn’t help … I thought perhaps it was because I couldn’t enjoy anything if I knew another soul was in trouble and I tried to ignore the more humane part of me.

He sniffed a little louder than he expected, at least that’s what I assumed, and I looked over at his slumped over figure and saw his face turning a darker shade of pink. Quickly I cast my eyes toward the barkeep who was also keeping an eye on him. Our eyes met and we understood in silent comaradery that the gentleman would be taken care of. I nodded my head and the barkeep prepped another snifter of the warm, silkened, cognac. I took another swallow from my glass and felt a temporary ease wash over my conscious.

Who would interfere and ask questions as to why a grown man would be in a bar, by himself, dressed every bit a proper man, and sulking over a glass of fine cognac? Not me. Being a woman there are some things one just doesn’t do. Not even to your best friend, your brother, your lover, least of all your own father, never mind a stranger. Moments of privacy are respected even in public. These are not to be intruded on. Yet, I was compelled as was the barkeep to keep a comfort going for him. There are souls that don’t need to say a word for the rest of the world to know they are in trouble. As with every action, reaction … there are souls that notice and will take hold the other up if in need. It’s a law of the universe I’ve yet to figure out. Somehow it’s just a sensation, a feeling, a knowing.

The barkeep gently placed the glass in front of the gentleman. Startled, he immediately reached for his wallet and the barkeep shook his head in friendly form quietly informing him that it was already paid for by the misses at the bar. He looked over and I half tilted my head in friendly manner. Not every encounter between man and woman had to do with procreation. True the universe would not be the same if this were not true. But in the decency of humanity, sometimes it was just better knowing that the other half of the population understood the pain and angst one was going through. That’s all it is.

Almost immediately the heaviness in the air seemed to dissipate. His head was still bent over his glass and his face still seemed to gravitate to the darker side of life but it seemed at least now he was breathing. His eyebrows weren’t furrowed so deep and his shoulders weren’t as sloped as they were before. I looked at the barkeep once more and gave a half smile. He did the same. Getting up I put on my light coat and walked out.

Heading down the cobbled path towards my apartment I couldn’t help but think that if people weren’t as selfish, more understanding and willing to accept that people have bad days and don’t always want company; if we just left each other alone for a bit of time; if we just gave each other space to breathe; if we just listened to our instincts … maybe we wouldn’t be so sad and angry all the time. Maybe if we just allowed people comfort from a distance things would be more calm.

I don’t know what happened to the gentleman, don’t know where he is, what the story was nor do I want to know. All I really know is that 8.50 was an alright amount to pay for an hour of thinking time for someone. I’d be willing to give that to a complete stranger and for those nearest to me … I’d do anything. Including leaving them alone forever if need be.

“the cassini division”

The Cassini Orbiter took me to the rings of Saturn where I wanted to witness the specular reflection of lakes from the planet itself. I wanted to witness the mysterious glow … the closest description being that of a cat’s eye when you shine a flashlight into it in the dark. I wanted to bear witness to colors I had never experienced before. I wanted something otherworldy, indeed I wanted something from Heaven. Who was it for me to take and was I being selfish? Yes I was.

In trust I led the Orbiter directly in between the Sun and Saturn allowing my bare and unprotected eyes to make their way across the colored mosaic of blues, greens, yellow-greens and finally deeper reds indicating thermal emissions from deep inside Saturn herself. My heart pounded and I became entranced on the rings themselves. My plain browned deep set eyes cast upon the sandy colors of the B ring and I noticed that the watered ice, of which Saturn’s rings are primarily made of, was contaminated with rock and other carbon compounds. The small ringlets were varied in their light scattered properties causing variation in their brightness. I was in shock and awe with the B ring herself.

My attention hence was distracted to Saturn’s A ring and it’s there that I saw him kneeling on the outer sharpened edges. I geared the orbiter closer to the Cassini division to take a better look at the being performing a near impossible task. It was at that moment that his eyes cast their gaze toward me and the craft. Frightened, as much as I was, he stood up in defence shielding his face and shrinking away from the hub of the Orbiter. I motioned friendly gestures but was sure he took them as gestures of malice and he started to make his way back towards the inner rings of Saturn. Desperate for contact I guided the Orbiter closer to the atmosphere hoping I could somehow  attract his attention.

He was quicker than I and had already made his way to the innermost D ring of the planet. Eloquent as a dancer he hopped from ringlet to ringlet and I watched the colors of the rings brush past his sinewy legs and bottoms of his ankles as he skipped his way to the safety of the planet. It was a hurried kaleidoscope of colors on him and emotions within me. In my frenzied state I became unaware of my curiosity which was forcing me to push ahead full throttle and cause the Orbiter to move much more quickly than I had anticipated. I caught up to him and he fell onto the surface of a ringlet and was dangerously close to the many gaps surrounding him, the orbiter, and the D ring herself.

My own eyes widened to their largest possible diameters and I motioned for him to stay. He shook in fear and I could tell that he had never witnessed anything like me before … I was as alien to him as he was alien to me. Deep inside I felt a huge amount of regret and guilt build up. Who was I to force myself on to a being that wasn’t wanting to welcome me? Who was I, a plain human, too much of a bully to other species to admit that we in fact shared the same Universe. Too much of a pushover to admit that I, being a selfish human, was responsible for the debris and the toxins released. Too ashamed to admit that I was probably the lowest being in the Universe.

I cast my eyes in the direction of the cowering figure and sensed a feeling of imprisonment come from him. I veered the Orbiter away from the D ring, edged it past back to the Cassini division of the A and B rings in a motion of universal space and then I watched as the figure hopped onto the other ringlets and disappear into the depths of Saturn herself.

“romantic whisperings of song”

She listened to the metal clasp greet its counterpart before she made her way to the busstop. Small sleety snow jumped to her flushed cheeks making her face wet and her mascara smudge. Though she didn’t mind for she was smiling an inward smile out to the world as she reminisced about the previous two hours. Two hours that made a significant impact on her being. Two hours that forever changed her view of life.

A life that was filled with words yet no melody. Yet now she found the melody within herself and she was happy to have paid attention to her instincts. They were the same safe, satisfying instincts that made her aware of the good things in life. Like the comfort of a hug from a friend, the first sip of tea, her mother’s soft voice, and the look of recognition between her infant babes and herself peering back at them. It was the same wash of emotion that she followed that brought the familiar grin to her face while at the same time an aching came across her heart.

Solitude once more. Would she ever be rid of the feeling that all the best moments she had were by herself and not dependent on another human being? Was it as if she were speaking to the universe out there yet saying nothing aloud … it didn’t seem to make sense to her. Yet there was an eerie familiar attachment to that haunting feeling of aloneness that comforted her.

Adjusting her grip on her hard case she looked down the avenue to see if the number five was making its way down the gritty, sloppy street but saw no public transit with it’s neon lettering. Her electric getting heavy she propped her on end and leaned her against the cemented garbage bin. She propped her body against the tinny metal buspost. Normally waiting at the bus stop would make her nervous considering the time of night but this time she seemed protected by her guitar and her iron will.

A bitter wind picked up as if to taunt her safety and she responded by pulling her hood close to her face and folding her arms closer to her frame. Staring up into the depths of the night sky she watched orange, florescent, pastel flakes of snow fall gently from the darker depths of winter. Squinting she let pieces fall and let the coolness massage the soft folds of her eye lids and parched lips. Breathing in the brisk air she felt a feeling of contentedness fill her body and in thanks she turned her head once more to the gutter.

What was a girl like her doing in the late hours of night, standing at a bus stop with a guitar at her side? Dreaming? Making a fool of herself probably. But no she decided this couldn’t be the answer. The man had faith in her. He was her teacher whose words had resonated within her. As soon as she saw him standing in the basement suite with black woolen socks, gloves with the fingers cut out and a room filled with worn edged music books and vinyl all across the wall she knew she had asked for the right tutor. He had a head full of grey and a vintage Les Paul that looked like it was made out of the same wood that Pinnochio was carved from but he played it so well and the chords sounded like a beautiful choir. Yes she was in the right spot at the right hour answering a call that had come from so far ago.

A short distance away she heard the short burps of the transit bus dragging its way through the browned muck that was surrounding her feet. It sounded tired and worn, like her but she was content that she had found her muse. Looking up as the doors swung open she smiled at the wearied bus driver and climbed on with her guitar case in hand.

The number five route echoed a song of the past that night and she fell mercilessly in love with it’s melodic whisperings.

life in a citrus

She let the orange peelings fall to the crunchy surfaced snow and she examined the contrast of colors at her feet. Tilting her head to the side she made her way around the ragged but beautiful orange edged lines and escaped into the tiny continent. A dismissive curled mixture from the white underside of the peels to the orange landscaped tops that made up the uninterrupted fantasy land of her own.

Against the crisp untouched white of snow the land mass was tiny but it was enough to sustain her soul for the bit of time needed to sort out the webbed strings of thoughts in her mind. Strings like that of the membraned pieces of fleshy fruit she was holding. With her fingers she peeled away the thin whitish lines from the wedges and let them fall next to the peelings. It felt cathartic to rid herself of the mess she had created in her subconscious. The peeling away of the membrane was as if she was sheathing a layer of skin off of her worn body. It was as if she was cleansing her soul and mind of the molds that grew into her life.

She bent her thumb back and forth causing the teardropped fleshy pieces to separate. She felt a few pieces fall out of her grasp and she let out a small sigh for some battles just weren’t as important as others. Thus she held on to the teardrop that was between her fingertips and carefully rolled it between her thumb and middle finger caressing it and ensuring it wouldn’t give way under the pressure she exerted. It was velvety and soft, malleable and giving … she mindlessly smiled at the bit of color she held on to.

The smaller sigh led the way to a larger lung engulfing breath of winter air mixed with the fragrance of the fruit. Closing her eyes she let the warm orange fragrance enter her system and she let her breathing turn back to normal.

Looking back down at her feet, the orange wrinkled continent was beginning to form a white crust around it’s edges and she knew that soon it would be covered in the frost that was inviting itself to her creation. It was okay to let go this time and as she started to walk away she felt reassured that everything would be better this time around.

“blackbird”

“I’m sorry.”

The old man sat there shaking his head slowly and she noticed tears fall from his eyes. They crawled their way down past his wrinkles and landed on his blue kerchieft making dark blue circles.

“No no no … I’m being a softy again.”

Her eyes started to sting as she willed herself not to cry. She turned her head away embarrassed and  focused on the raven sitting on the branch outside his window. Raven’s black eyes stared  coldly at her adding another level of emptiness alongside the tinny notes coming from the old record player playing in the corner.

She stared right into Raven’s eye and felt a sense of falling allowing the depth of color to draw her in. She defiantly met his gaze and didn’t bow to his powers.  She felt her heart sinking and knew that somewhere in the near future a message was coming.

“Have I made you sad?” His voice cut off their chance meeting of souls and she looked away from Raven half out of relief half out of fear.

Looking back at the gentleman she focused on the crinkles around his eyes and the way the light glinted off his pupils. She preferred his eyes to that of the Raven. They were more kind and though they held pain, they were filled with history and memories that he shared with her. She understood his emotions and she didn’t know that she would ever understand that of Raven’s.

“No not at all … please continue your story. I’ll switch the record over and we can have another cup of Earl Grey.”

She smiled at him and rose from the table.  As she poured boiling water from the kettle to the ceramic pot she felt an uneasy feeling thicken the atmosphere. Fearing that Raven was still spying on her she looked out the window to where he was perched and felt a protective urge to shoo him away. In helplessness she looked to her elderly companion and understood the origin of her fear.

Raising her gaze to Raven he smirked at her briefly and then proceeded to fly off into the grey afternoon.

Calmly she walked back to the table and placed the tea pot’s spout to her companion’s tea cup and poured him the warm burgundy liquid that brought them together. She measured out the sugar and poured a bit of cream, stirred the mixture with the spoon and watched as he brought the cup to his lips.

Casting her eyes downward she felt her own tears fall and create dark circles on her pants.

Portrait

Crystallised Beauty by Radiomovies

Out there is a face which you build your dreams on. A soft porous surface which makes you want to run your fingertips over. You can’t wait for the day when you can trace it to your memory as if it were a braille created just for you. It is your vision of beauty that you know already…you know it like the day you first saw him.

Could you ever forget that day when you were walking by yourself through the park across the baseball diamond? You were scuffing your new sneakers into the red slate stone. Your grey hoodie was reminiscent of the good old eighties it even had the white ties with the plastic ends that you chewed on. Your hands were shoved into the depths of your jeans pockets and they were died a dark dark indigo blue.

Lost in your own thoughts you look up.

He is standing at the fence, his fingers grasping through diamond shaped metal and he is staring at you. Heart stopping aquas bright from the sea invite you to his person and as you approach you see lines traced across the canvass of his face thus turning it from a whole into sections. Sections that will forever be in your mind because his segmented portrait makes you hesitate for a moment.

The moment adds up and as you stand there separated by a cold, wiry, metal fence you know that time nor distance will never erase what has just occurred. The moment stays with you and the person forever changing your life even though it was unintentional and neither of you knew it.

You find yourself walking down lonely streets and you see kites flying in the distance, bicycles slipping past, bubbles floating by you’re searching for that familiarity in diamond shaped metal fences and in any pair of aqua marine eyes. You just want to believe that when you walk up to the fence and put your fingers on the holed surface that he is on the other side doing the same with his hands providing the warmth you seek within the damp coolness of the air around you.

The cooler winds and grey skies always make things seem much more desolate …

“Legend”

Out of the warmth of the womb and into the abnormal cold airs of the world Infant is born. She keeps her eyes tightly shut. It’s as if she knows something Elders don’t. As if even sneaking a peek will ruin her dreamt up world from the one she already knew.

She whispers it from her tiny, ruby, pursed lips. She will keep her eyes shut still but maintain a composed peacefulness about her facial features making note of a patience of seeing.

“Don’t spoil it … not yet.”

Shadows move lightly in front of her eyelids teasing them, begging them.

“Please open your eyes. Witness now.”

Words of encouragement to lift and bat her lightly, frailed lashes.

“Not yet”

A whisper back as the eyes loll about behind the closed lids as if they were waiting for the right moment to open and grasp the perfect rays.

The Shadows continue to dance and make merry casting light in her direction coaxing the eyelids to flutter in response to their beckoning.

Impatiently waiting, cautiously holding it’s breath and mystically calling to the inner workings of sight.

“I want to be loved by the sun” she says to the Shadows dictating they would no longer be allowed in her life any longer.

“It is a gift we give to you. ‘Tis time for you to open your eyes and see the world now. You have had near a year in darkness with only sound to guide you and soft song in the near distance. It is safe and the world is ready for you to see the beauty she holds. Do not be afraid. Embrace this light we give to you.”

Infant smiles knowing what Shadow says to be true, something within her trusts him. Taking in a breath, as much as her tiny lungs could hold, she attempts to lift her lids which were heavy from the time spent closed.

Shadows dance in front of her as if their movements would stimulate her muscles to respond and allow their gift to be given to her. Eyelids twitching faster they notice  and in revelry they dance faster.

A small amount of light catches her view and she lets out a small sound in awe. On cue the morning rays enter with the glow of reds, oranges, yellows with hints of pink leftover as if to add just a dash of magic for Infant.

Wider she opens her eyes and she lets in the softness of the light as it came cascading across her vision.

Her lashes wet with tears she welcomes the brightness of the rays and lays bearing witness to the Light which Shadow had promised.

Blinking she let out a sigh and then closed her eyes back shut.

To her it was a long tiresome journey to take the step she did.

Infant was grateful for the eternal gift from Shadow.