flaming jewels

Night Ice (ii): loa

(All sections in brackets are quoted from James Taylor's song, "One Morning in May")

I hurt. I have run a long time, ending up in a frozen place, breathing hard and ohsovery hungry.

Stand I now by the lake. And there is, there is--there is winter in my brain. Sounds like a chant. A rhythm. Accompanied by...the crack of ice. The flashes of ice shards. The frozen softness of the contours of the snow. It is winter and dreams walk.

Stand I by the lake, and view the way that the lady sings to her soldier. He is the third; I have stood through the first two, jealous and hungry. I could not catch a soldier, for I cannot sing like her; there is no beauty in me. The music hurts to hear, and it tinkles the icicles that hang from the frozen softness of the snow. He hangs, childlike, arms around her neck, and she rocks him, soft soft soft. He looks to be dreaming.

["Oh maiden, fair maiden, 'tis time to give o'er." "Oh no, kind soldier please play one two more for I'd rather hear your fiddle at the touch of one string than to see the waters glide and hear the nightingale sing."]

She sees me. I do not lift a hand for fear of my movement. If I moved, I would have to hunt. I would take her soldier from her and spill him on the snow, red on black on pure and crisphard diamond edged soft white. I would have him, and I would ruin his dreams. So I do not move. Black I stand against the frozen softness of white. The moon reflects from the white and illuminates her face. She skates like a carol, and her feet barely touch the (water!) ice. And she shines, shines, shines. I can see the glow from where I stand,
black
against the shiny ice
and still he dreams
of fair maidens who want him to play for them, I suppose.
Having never been fair, I wouldn't know.

["Oh soldier, kind soldier, will you marry me?" "Oh no, pretty maiden, that never shall be. I've a wife down under and children twice three-- Two wives and the Army's too many for me."]

She skates and the moonlight follows her ---she is the moonlight---
and the soldier boy with mouth of crimson
(ah Heaven do not think of crimson)
and sleepy heart pounding,
(he smells so good, sofuckinhungryiamsofuckinhungry, shut UP shut UP) slips from her arms, and his dream continues under the water.
I can feel the tiny tremor his fists make on the ice as I walk out onto it, for movement will cause me no pain now. The smell has disappeared. But the light remains.

My hands are in fists.

She is dancing for me. I can smell her exhilaration. It is very tiring to watch. I have never been good on skates. My ankles wobble. But if she called to me, I would come. I would do anything for her. I would die for her, if she asked. Inasmuch as I can die. I would kill for her, if she asked.
I would kill her, if she asked.

And the night ice creaks and groans.

Her wings spread out and feathers fly, white to white on white. Softer than ice. I stand,
black
and shivering now, but not with cold. I want to dance with her because her eyes and her hands and the way her dress whirls around her are calling me and I go out to meet her and she swings me around, swings and swings and swings and twigs crack and the ice groans with the sighs of a thousand boy-soldiers. I cannot think. I am tired, to the very rotten bone core of myself. Swing I, and swing and
swing.

"Please, milady." My voice is as hard edged as the ice. She looks down at me, surprised. The joy fades from her face. "Please..."
I cannot hold on to her much longer, and the furious pace that she skates has tired me more than I can stand. I am reduced to pleading. Abruptly she stops and I stop, or think I do, for the world revolves for a long time before it settles down. There is a call, and a bird lands on a tree near us. A crow, black
against the black of the tree trunk. My sister smiles gently and says, "On my first day in Hell, my true love sent to me, a crow sitting in an oak tree."

The crow calls. The ice groans like a woman in childbirth.

"Lost..." the word is a whisper. Did I say that word? Ice all around me. Tears leak out of me like prayers. I sob silently, hanging onto my sister's ankles. I am lost and hungry, and there are crows broadcasting my location.

She sits down beside me. The ice holds her weight and her wings flare out behind her.
"Lost?"
Oh, I am. I am.

[go to part (iii)] [back to index]

jewel@gleeful.com
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