The stars were above me. I could see them. They sparkled
as if for me, as if for the world. Someone made those, I thought. Someone made
those for pleasure, for love, for pain. They represented another dimension, another
world. Tiny, little, rockets, small comets, teeny stars all of them
encompassing a life elsewhere, all singing of a place that felt like home. They
winked and nodded at me. This way, they said. Yes, said I, for home is where I
yearn to be. I stared at them until my eyes glazed, until my thoughts seemed to
explode with light. How badly I wanted to hold one in my hand, or to be held in
their hand. They’d belong to me, or I to them. Just so long as one of us
belonged. Just so long as one of us could nestle in, find safe haven, find
peace. A sanctuary. Constructed by God. Somewhere in the great cosmic universe,
the great Out-There. I stretched my hands above me. I reached for the stars
until my fingers ached, and my shoulders dislocated. So close. So I called for
my friends. They knelt in the dirt and made hand baskets for me. They gave me their
shoulders, their knees, their encouragement to stand on. I planted my feet in
their confidence and reached still higher. Almost there. My fingertips brushed
a star and it burned. I tasted sulphur in my mouth and I wanted more. The human
ladder beneath me began to tremble and whimper beneath my efforts. Not yet. I told
them to endure it for me. Be patient. I’m almost there, I said. I broke their fingers,
and their shoulders crushed beneath me. Their toes dug in the dirt for me,
splintered in the decay for me, and I ignored it. I ignored their pain for the
stars. Then I saw a light beneath me. The human ladder was sparkling. Stars
gleamed from the pockets, and lining, and skin of my long-suffering friends. They
were glowing on the bottom, while I disappeared into the grey on top. Suddenly
the stars above me seemed to move away, further and farther up until they
slipped into the blackened sky. I stared into the void. Disbelief spread over
my body. I felt the tremble beneath me and the grey above me and I faltered.
And I fell. Face in the dirt, hands covered in waste, body converging with
earth. Dust to dust. I belong here. Not up there. These thoughts wash over me
and I cry out. I cry towards my friends with their stars and their light. But
they slink away, they lick their wounds, their broken bones protruding, tears mangled
with dirt, confidence melting into hopelessness. I spat at them. Leave me here,
I said. I prefer it this way. I felt my heart pound in me as I said it. Leave
me alone. Alone, alone, alone. It echoed through the hallways of my heart as
something indiscernible defied the impending darkness. I lay there and listen
to the drums of battle within me. Something Hopeful and something Despairing.
Two things wanted to possess me, reign over me. Neither is victorious, but they
won’t leave. They can’t. My innards seem like the place to wage war forever. I
listen to the drums of battle within me. And nothing else exists. I see the muck
beneath me and I grab a handful. This is tangible. This is life, I say, knowing
it isn’t. I fill my pockets to the brim and I let it languish; let it belong to
me for a little while. It owns me. I pretend to possess it, but I can’t get the
stains out, so who holds who hostage? Salt tears don’t cleanse like they
should. Rain doesn’t fall here anymore. So, I wait. I wait in the ground, like
a forgotten seed. Perhaps my hands will become vines, and my feet roots. I’ll
intermingle with the earth. It’ll become me and I it. This is where I belong, I
say, knowing it isn’t. Scoop me up. Plant me in the stars. Leaves clinging to
me, roots fused to my bones, scoop me up. Dust creeps in my eyes, but not
before they catch a glimmer above. My atrophying heart leaps for a moment.
Thorns bore deep, and branches entrap, but I belong up there. I belong up
there, I say. Uproot me.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
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