Blades

Mortal is the blade that cuts beneath my ribs

It takes what I cannot hold

Jagged across my bones, then twist

I sadly weep, it’s cold.

Limbs fold and surrender to the smell of dirt

Dust to dust, and earth to earth

Powerful is the blade

Unyielding, it seeks

All

Too Wild

Daddy rarely spoke to me unless I was in trouble. So, I expected this time would be no different.

Two weeks earlier, while I was seven years old, I had approached him and asked if I could keep my turtle inside his water tank. The tank was actually a bathtub he had found somewhere around the neighborhood and hauled back to our house. He kept it outside in the shade next to our house, partly filled with green water, algae, a few catfish, perch, and a floating log for his two turtles to rest. It was a haven for mosquito larvae.

I had caught my turtle in the creek down the street, and I was proud of its uniqueness. It was smaller than daddy’s turtles which were light green and relatively docile. My turtle was a fighter, dark gray with a sharp beak and thick shell. It had led me on a high-speed chase through Crawfish Creek and down a dark, snake-infested tunnel to catch it.

“I know who’s been killing my fish,” said daddy, looking suspiciously at me.
I could feel the energies draining from my body as I thought, “Great! Here we go again.” I had assumed he was talking about me.

Each day, I had been feeding breadcrumbs to the tank; but stopped when I heard that some of his fish had been killed. I hoped to avoid getting blamed, but I was apparently too late.

An awkward silence settled around us as I looked down at the tank and floating fish, wondering how daddy would tie it to me. He had an effective method of placing blame. He simply defied us—my siblings and I—to deny his accusations; else, the punishment might be more severe.

I wished I hadn’t come home so early. “Why didn’t I play longer with my friends,” I thought.

Then the silence broke.

“It was that badass turtle of yours,” he said, “I caught it biting one of my fish when I came home today.”

I looked down at my turtle, innocently sitting on the log. The larger turtles seemed to fear it as they kept their distance.

“He’s too wild,” said Daddy with an almost proud tone, “Take it back to the creek.”

I was relieved and happily carried out his order.

Amid Midair

In spite, I move

Defying wearying disappointments, and dizzying distractions

Pain implores me stop, these aching heartbeats, but my feet feels no earth beneath

How can I stop in midair?

I move with unsatisfied love, unwelcomed, and lost

It is as smoke, teasing, it meanly swirls around my reaching grasp

Then whispers my name; my fate in foreign tongues, an empty fortune

This bate quietly calls my destiny

But how can I breathe in midair?

And where shall I land?

Unkempt Fields

Through canyons and valleys, they traveled, man and horse, across a shallow river and beyond until their concerns of Alice had faded. Knuckles found the supplies he needed in a small town called Fudge; food, blankets, and other items. Shade is no pack mule, so Mother Nature would provide the rest.

Shade enjoyed berries and grass along the way, beyond new canyons and past the strange-looking shed that gave even Shade the creeps; the scarecrows that guarded its unkempt fields, and how one carried a large rusty pitchfork.

If they were only meant to repel crows, they would be a bit extravagant.

Knuckles noticed and then dismissed movement by one of them. “The heat must be getting to me,” he considered and then realized that mechanical devices were probably implanted into their limbs to scare off some of the more aggressive critters. Not those, however, whose clever minds gazed out through hungry eyes from the forest beyond the fields.

Their focus sat not on golden fields but on Shade’s muscular legs, flexing as she carried Knuckles down the narrow path that led into the dark forest.

Enter Alice

“I’m going to kill him!” echoed through the halls of her thoughts, as Alice flung the covers off of her and sprang from her bed. A stir had called her from her dreams; a dog’s bark and a faint ruckus coming from Shade’s burn. Somehow she knew that it was Knuckles.

Alice had ended their relationship earlier that evening, and what better way to get under her skin than to borrow her most prized possession. She knew that Knuckles had been planning a retreat into the wilderness. It’s where he was raised, and where -still- he sometimes goes to fine peace. He would want to bring along a good horse.

In her bare feet, Alice stormed from her house, out onto the porch and immediately heard the galloping of hooves.

“Come back here!” she shouted into the night, but could hardly distinguish the fleeing dual from the shadowy background of the trees.

She then ran out into the yard, hoping that they would turn around. But such thoughts were not part of Knuckles’ plan.

Once they were out of Alice’s sight, and from atop Shade’s powerful back, Knuckles allowed her to slow to a comfortable trot.

Knuckles was gambling that Alice would not contact the authorities right away; that she was standing in her yard, staring into the darkness, and expecting him and Shade to appear from it—so that she could then scold him.

“By the time she realizes that we’re not returning just yet, it’ll be too late,” thought Knuckles, “We’ll be out of town, and I know just where to pick up some supplies.”