A prose poem regarding the care and feeding of my stories.The calliope sings Tick Tock, a steam-powered tune of time...endless time, no time. Space...endless space, no space. The calliope’s wordless tune makes a promise of stories. Toots and whistles and jolly fun lead me dancing, twirling, to the grandfather clock that towers a mile above me—a lemon-polished fortress of hours.
Tick tock toot toot, I have only so many heartbeats upon this earth. The glass-fronted cabinet shows my tiny reflection yet I shy away and cannot look. I am unfinished, unshaped. There are stories up there in the moon dial. Stories I yearn for. Crave. Out-of-reach tales that will fill my soul, give my being weight, and Meaning. Make-believe will make me real. The untrue will force the truth. If only I can get there. My fingers pry open the cabinet. It takes me years. I hoist myself up into grandfather’s body, step inside, heels clack on dark, hard wood. Beneath the Weights of Time, a cauldron glows hot and thick. Brighid’s Cauldron, her forge of inspiration, calls my name. To accept the invitation is to take on the Taskmaster. Brighid says she will burn my toes if I back out now. The moon dial, shimmering faintly high above, and its riches, is my goal. Beware family, beware lover: I will throw over all else to get there. On a rising column of cauldron smoke, I ascend far enough to grasp the time chains. From here on up, I must propel myself. Burning arms, bloody fingers, chain by chain by chain by chain. Rejection oil loosens my grip. Legitimacy spits me out, straight into the mouth of the doubt demons. Brighid, I beg of you, let me drop into the cauldron, rest for a while. Ha! She keeps her promise to burn my toes. Tick tock toot toot, you have only so many heartbeats upon this earth. I crawl. I clamber. Once in a blue chain, I float up a few links. I climb again. The moon winks. Just for me. It spins away, a tease, to be replaced by a sailing ship, a shepherdess, the rays of the sun. I am about to fall with the giddiness. Stories are close. I smell them, yet I grow heavier the higher I climb. I reach for the stars anyway. The gateway to the moon dial beckons me through. Brighid smiles. Chime the hours. Ring the bells. I live in the moon dial now. There is my own magical, traveling circus. Over there in the nightclouds, my heartbreak and denial. Cookie kings and imprisoned nature sprites dwell with me. Tales of romantic witchery beg for happy endings. They all whisper to me, Queen of the Moon Dial, sitting atop all the time in the world. And then down below the calliope sings. Tick tock toot toot, I have only so many heartbeats upon this earth.
1 Comment
Marhya
6/21/2013 10:26:26 am
. Thank you for sharing. Very powerful!!
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