on tenses

wind time back. 

unwound my heart.

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XI: wind-up

Starting Over

Previously: Sleep

This may be a happy post.

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9: Starting Over

citybuoy | ♔ıǝɹɯɐı♔ | Leader of the Opposition | ןıuǝ oɟ ɟןıƃɥʇ | Orange Wit | Spiral Prince

Late: Ties

To say that it struck like lightning would be folly, a vain attempt to sunder from all liabilities. There were signs:   going incommunicado for hours, for days; disappearing acts that conclude at the blasphemous hour of three in the morning; money lost under the guise of being pickpocketed, of being held up for the first time ever(and he was a giant of a man, at that); rare material wants denied(and yet he just bought two, three phones, among other things); women in provocative poses infesting wallpapers like an epidemic, like a teen driven by hormones(and he was 56, with a wife, and three kids); wallet and phones nowhere hid, even for his spouse(as was said, he just bought new ones for himself); red lace in his suitcase that nobody owned, id pictures of a wench in his suitcase unnamed(and my mother kept this secret for half a year and two, kept her grief to herself). These were pustules in the pretty picture we had in our heads. We did not pry: it was too late when the tumor revealed itself.

To say that we were pre-occupied, that we did not care could be an excuse, a ruse: an easy way out. He never spoke during the confrontation, even when the mistress(and there were three, sisters, in fact) admitted,  then subsequently denied all allegations. The tangled loops and frayed ends of her stories, her lies, her myths sprung from her mouth like sentient, resilient weeds, even as the noose tightened about her neck, even as we doused the kindling, the logs, as we lit our torches. He stood silent. The tears ran freely from mama's eyes and her wails warbled, dissonant, profound: her dreams she kept in a box all these years for the man who swore to be her strength, they broke free from their velvet prison wilted and dried and black; the dignity she's held on to all these years, she let go: she was a husk, a woman scorned, a wife scorned, a mother scorned whose anger and anguish wove from sobs to screams to sobs to screams. I held on to her, and my cousin, too, consoling the inconsolable, asking her not to give in: that she had children. Even as we gave her water to calm her down, he stood silent.

To say that we were unaware is a lie. We had an inkling, and it whispered to us in our sleep, yet we denied it. To assume that everything could go back to the way it was is foolish: how do you make whole the slivers of maligned crystal? Who knows? Maybe it is all too late.

Miranda Lambert

The House That Built Me

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4: Late

citybuoy | ♔ıǝɹɯɐı♔ | ןıuǝ oɟ ɟןıƃɥʇ | Manila Bitch | Orange Wit | Spiral Prince

Image owned by Spiral Prince

Disney Princesses: At Seventeen

The applause that rose as the curtains fell was thunderous, but it wasn't for them. One by one, the Princesses curtsied as was their wont and left the stage, all regal and smiling.

Her face forlorn, she asked Esmeralda, "But aren't we Princesses, too?"

Wistful, Esmeralda replied, "Well, what can we do? They're racists? I guess we are, Pocahontas," she bit her lip and continued, "but maybe they don't remember..."

And those of us with ravaged faces 

Lacking in the social graces 

Desperately remained at home

At Seventeen

Janis Ian

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3: Disney Princesses

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Songlines: She

She

She fell from Aegis
as Pallas fled

She wheeled through the air
Rivers became ridges

She saw her Isle
No Stheno, No Euryale

She fell at last
From a lake, a valley bloomed

Beside the bramble
She wept her last

Her star-eyes flared
Dying, pulsating

Blinding

Her withered head
The wind swept to dust

A desert now
Where a great land was

2: Songlines

citybuoy | ♔ıǝɹɯɐı♔ | ןıuǝ oɟ ɟןıƃɥʇ | Orange Wit | Spiral Prince

Ilena

"What are you doing, Ilena?" I asked the little girl lumping chunks of clay in a mound around her. It reached up to her waist.

She looked up, face streaked with dirt, and flashed a radiant smile, "I'm growing up," she pointed at her friend and continued, "Afon is making sure I am pretty." Paint was sloshed all over the place.

***

"Where are you going, Ilena?" I asked the little girl encased in painted clay. Only her face was visible.

She glanced at me, tilted her head and beamed saying, "I'm growing up." Her face was fair and her tangled locks framed her face. "Afon kept my treasure in a box, " she paused briefly and continued, "I have it with me. Afon will make sure my face looks pretty." 

Soon enough the cage was sealed. The boy I never saw worked silently as Ilena's beautiful visage blossomed on its surface.

That was the last I saw of her.

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I: Matroyshka Dolls

Citybuoy | ♔ıǝɹɯɐı♔ | ןıuǝ oɟ ɟןıƃɥʇ |  Orange Wit | Sitting Pretty | Spiral Prince