Bewildehof 28

February 26, 2015 § Leave a comment

Bewilderhof – 28
Chapter 28
– about the blurred fringe of promise 

Bewildehof woke up on his pallet by the stove, the small pile of stones he was counting that morning beside him, a few more lay on his chest, one still in his hand

it was a little bit after noon
and he was hungry
stones gathered 
put into pockets 
a shuffle to the refrigerator 
a note in pink ink affixed with a magnet greeted him there
he knew the handwriting 
big looping letters
hearts dotting the i’s
he’d read notes written in the same hand starting from the time he began learning to read
they were always kind
always perplexing
he reached past it for the handle
got out a boiled egg to shell
a quart of buttermilk 
then the note:
– by some other vector  
       you are    me
I know of no way to not be
at least a residue 
             of   you
in a while many will 
           be as both
           of us
chiefs of 
what was 
will not be 
chiefs of  what is yet &
they will commiserate 
with one another
              that
the eye calcified & 
denied may
yet win back its sight
first 
as for you, with
your questions 
your inverted images
your years of wanting reunion,
I have dropped
seeds of discovery 
a few each season 
 I do it not
to fool 
but until you are ready
to be cubed 
to be 
raised by the law of numbers
to not be found as an ox
for a drivers bidding
my revelations
will be slow
  forwarding what is due before moving to earth
(with enforcements undone)
in any other manner
is of no benefit 
but 
once done
the vestments of memory
will be worn properly
not as mere adornment –
he folded it when done
and pulled a pickling crock
from behind the door
and dropped it in 
on top of at least a hundred
others
shoved the crock back
with a foot
picked up the buttermilk 
and went out to the chair
on the porch
the hawk shadow
patrolled the yard
fugitive stood in the barn 
door hands behind his back
watching something in the sky
sloth was just entering the dirt drive 
a bottle in one hand
two more in a bag 
in the other
the only thing resembling 
promise was
another afternoon of
chores that lay ahead of him
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead
 
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