Significant prior people depart from our lives. Some remain. Still others, new to our circle, appear. This segment comes on the heels of Jani’s departure, the teacher’s presence, and Hart’s new place in the protagonist’s life. Bringing the old (the teacher) and the new (Hart) has its risks. Relating to the “old” means facing the possibility that the long-standing relationship will overshadow the new, or that shared history will leave the newer member out. Perhaps, this is worth considering in our own relationships.
As for the italicized sections this time, think of them as day-dreaming and meditation, both in a youthful sense. Hopefully, such sections add interest to the story, and also assist in exploring the inner life of our main character. Much to be learned in these passages about life on the other side of conventional reality – a place worth visiting frequently. Formless ideas emerge. Dreams become concrete. Insights arise.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From that night on, Hart and I are seldom
separate, saying little and sitting much
The others shrug and look surprised at us
We are still the odd ones so no matter
We have simply morphed into deeper strange
Like a ship, we move through the rolling waves
We follow the currents leaving a wake
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the first month of summer, Hart and I
wade to a river sandbar’s shallow ledge
When we get hot, we swim, when tired we sleep
on sand in the middle of the river
We’re the only ones here because the rest
hang around the edge of Chickopee where
a cracked old dam holds the river back and
makes a quiet pool for safer swimming
But we want to feel the coursing current’s tug
and listen to the flow, and think of where
the water’s been and if it could only speak
Lying on the warm sand, saying nothing
I doze over the edge and into dreams
I flow honey-smooth out of my body
make myself thin as wind
slide between leaves of sunlight skin-to-skin
against old trees with fat honey bees
who take me inside their trunks and hives
where rich thick amber rivers run
clasped silent in this wise old wood
safe in the guarded yellow-honey nest
I wake for a moment and turn my head
toward Hart who sleeps face up, moist lips parted
I close my eyes and turn my face sunward
I sigh softly thinking Hart might be the one
I move closer to the steep river ledge
lay back down letting water lap my feet
I think about the honey and the trees
and follow them back into warm profound sleep
Diving deeper
beneath ambered rivers and honeyed hives
I find endless sea and seek its bottom
where starfish limbs grow my divided self
all scattered on the seafloor’s gray-green bed
Settling gently
on the sand amid my blue starfish selves
all of us looking up to inverse waves
finding our reflections above the sea
white-hot points of light – mirror parts of me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When summer and river runs are almost
over, I keep thinking of the gray-haired
teacher, so much that before we must go
back, the urge to see him rises strongly.
I ask Hart if he will go there with me.
As always, he blends with my intention
as I do with his if nothing prevents
“Let’s go now. He may be there already.”
Harts nods yes but with crinkled eyebrows asks,
“Do you have a reason to go right now?”
“He has been on my mind and this seems like
the right time but I can’t say why that is.”
“It doesn’t matter. I was just curious.”
Soon we enter the familiar room grown
tinier than memory can conjure
He is here, the same, but somehow different
gray hair longer with a bit more silver
his stooped back to us as he reads and writes
I can tell he knows that we have arrived
but in his usual fashion he just reads
and waits for us to announce ourselves
I’m used to this and so I say, “Hello!
Wondering if you have time to talk to us?”
Without turning, he twists his neck up and right
“I know that voice.” He pauses. “Let me think.”
He taps his forehead, tries to find my name
I grin and Hart looks confused at this old
game I am so used to. I wave my hand
and signal Hart that I will take the lead
“A voice from the distant past,” I say with
mock drama, in a high tremulous voice.
Still, he does not turn around, so I add,
“Two humble students come to honor you
oh, great teacher.” I kneel and bow pulling
Hart down beside troubling his bad leg
Next our teacher turns with equal drama
and with wild gestures greets us boisterously
while raising us to our feet and into chairs
“Why yes, I do remember both of you.
The wayward one come from conquering gables
and one whose wisdom walks the crooked path.”
Hart likes this and joins in the playfulness
“Yes, we have forded rivers, fought demons
and climbed great towers to see the wider world.
Now we are here with a crucial message . . .”
Hart pauses and looks pleadingly at me
for help with his lines in this drama
dropping out of the little theater’s play
“A message!” beams the teacher. “Perhaps news
or a warning or a bold prophesy!”
He wants to stay on the bright-lighted stage
He waits for one of us to deliver
on the promised dispatch but none comes forth.
“We just came to talk,” I say with a shrug
“Then talk we will,” he says and all of us
willingly drop the curtain on our play
“So, how are you?” he asks searching my face
then Hart’s, then stares into my eyes again
“All right, I guess,” I answer looking down
“How you are is not for guessing, rather
for finding out though demons block your way!”
The teacher thrusts at some phantom, slashing
stabbing with an imaginary sword
(This is much too close to Jani’s knifing)
“Try again? Why come visiting today?”
As he asks, I think I know the answer
a warm flush rushes down my neck and back
From deep inside a question bubbles up –
truly, three or four sparkle on my tongue
“Where are you from? What did you do back there?
and why come here to this horrible place?”
“Why ask? To reply, I must know that first”
To this I am silent but Hart speaks up
and says for both of us a truth I did
not know we shared until this very hour
“This is a hard town to live in – so cruel
to the likes of us – full of selfish people
True they can be kind but that’s a gamble”
I am caught off balance for in our talks
Hart never spoke clearly of his feelings
The air shifts, discharges, grows heavier
a force rising up to drawing us closer
I add what may be a repetition,
“If we could know your story – why you stay?”
“What will you do with my long-old story?
Paint a description on a ragged kite
and send it fluttering from a tower
for every gawker to stare and point at?”
He laughs but he still expects an answer
Direct and deep I look into his eyes,
“You know I have to leave here very soon
I don’t know anyone who has but you”
“We will leave together,” Hart interjects
A second surprise since we have never
talked about it, but I’m glad to hear this
I look at him. He nods vigorously.
I accept this as a joint commitment
even though the timing and place are odd
The teacher mellows, waits, then speaks to us
“It’s very good to have a friend along
when you leave a place, you have always been.
When I left, I had a great friend with me.
We left together from this very town.”
“Tell us,” I urge moving my chair forward
“We went to war as soldiers; came back whole
then I married, had a small shop; she died
then I shipped out and traveled scores of years
Now I am here.”
“What happened while you were gone out to sea?”
“I thought it would be obvious to you”
“The war ended, but not for too many.
My wife died. My shop fast grew out of date.
Then the oceans took me most everywhere
every place I could ever want to see.
Through it all, I became what I could be
When I came back all was the same, but me.”
We all sit in silence, saying nothing
The teacher gazes over our two heads
toward the windows, and I wonder what
he might see now. He closes his eyes
breathes in long and slow and smiles – finally
he breaks the quiet, nods at us and says,
“My life has seen more than most. I’m content.
He waves a finger side to side, rising.
“But you can’t leap from here to where I am.
I could tell you all of it – every jot –
sad, small, momentous, joyful – all of it
would make little difference to your journey.
That is one true thing I’ve learned through my years.
Nothing happens based on a single cause
Take your burning wish to leave this poor town.”
He stops,places a hand on my shoulder
“If it weren’t for all of us living here
your focused flight would have no fuel to burn.
If our lives meant a thing at all to you
you would need something else to push against.
As it is, we’re the ones who set your path
on fire so you can run loosed from us all.”
“Not you,” I whisper half-ashamed he thinks
that I want to get away from him, too
“Don’t fool yourself. Nothing and no one moves
by internal power alone. It only
seems we rise up singly to take action.
Every moment of our lives is webbed close
with one another, even when we’re dead
Trust me. This is not an accusation.
Don’t believe the lie of separation.”
Hart is staring slack-jawed at this teacher.
I feel like I’ve been lectured while Hart looks
like he is in the presence of a ghost.
I forget the teacher is new to Hart
Yes, the classroom with everybody else
Not the private time I’ve had for a year
I must rescue Hart andgive an answer
Hart closes his mouth – speaks as from a trance.
“I’ve never seen my leg that way before –
something to push against to find out who
I am, not just a poor little cripple
I am different and I always will be
Anybody can just fall into line
with everyone else to say they’re okay.”
The teacher leans forward, puts one hand
on one each our knees, and he says to me
“This Hart is a friend you won’t often find.
It’s good to know you can see that. Most can’t.”
“I would have missed him but for Jani’s knife.”
Cascades of connections swirl together.
At once, I see that Hart is Jani’s gift
whether by intention or accident.
The teacher leans back and slaps both his thighs,
“Well, in a few more years all this will be
stashed in your memories, and out of your lives.
It’s all quite natural for the likes of you.”
He spreads his arms wide and cracks a broad grin,
“But when you’re flying high and looking down
here, recall it was here you learned to fly –
this nest your fledgling wings ache to depart”
We leave the teacher’s room walking lightly.
“That was really good,” says Hart quietly.
I’m lost in untangling the teacher’s words
“Yes. It was far more than I got before.”
“Maybe you can hear more now you’re older.”
“Maybe but it might be he’s never said”
“I guess we’re ready if we heard it! Ha!”
Hart cuffs me on my shoulder and chuckles
“Guessing is for old fools and for children.”
“We’remeant to know!” I say, and cuff him back
“You know we can leave any time we want.”
“Yes, I see that. I never thought the day
would come. But let’s decide tomorrow, Hart
Right now, it’s getting dark, and there’s a tower
begging to be climbed.”
Background:
The first true adventure of mid-youth needs an impetus – a kick in the feathers to start the flight (or fall) from the nest. Did you have such an initial adventure in your youth? Perhaps it came later in life, or not at all – yet. Is the tower of this story the continuation of our characters’ adventure, a transition, or an end? We shall see. The liminal space between “home” and the unknown is one of both possibilities and anxieties. Perhaps, it is the lack of certainty within all those possibilities that creates the anxiety. This has been my experience, and often still is, when facing “the new.” Yet, without creating a space for this new potential, everything bears the risk of staying status quo – for the most part, and barring any “life happens” incidents.
Exploration #1: Is it plausible that the narrator and Hart become close? If so, what draws them together?
Exploration #2: Do you think the teacher is right in encouraging the “flight” of these two fledglings? What are the healthy, as well as the dangerous aspects of his encouragement?
Exploration #3: Where to you think the two sets of parents are in all this? Where should they be – or not?
NEXT: Song 6: – Segment 1 – Weighing Anchor
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