Posted by Atticus on July 31, 2004, at 19:41:34
Three Brass Keys, 1998
The wasps are descending
From the paper nests
Suspended from the ceiling
Of the dome
Of the inside
Of my skull,
Crawling from delicate
Gray masterpieces
Of insect origami
To alight on the insides of my eyes
And swarm across the glassy pupils
To catch a glimpse
Of the world beyond
The mad cavern they inhabit.I hear a rising crescendo
As their wings begin to beat,
The unmistakable buzz
Of tiny squadrons
As they take flight
Into the arterial
Tunnels
Running throughout my body.
And all at once,
They pause,
Land,
And drive their stingers
Through my skin
From the inside out,
Creating bristling forests
Of needles
Protruding from
My face
My arms
My hands
My torso
My legs
My feet
Until I look more
Like a bleeding cactus
Than a man.The pain
Of pierced flesh
And their
Relentless,
Pitiless
Vibrations
Start the shivering again.
I just want
To unbecome,
To break
Into beads of nerveless
Morning dew,
Cast upon dawn breezes
As light reclaims shadow,
To dissolve into cool, cool
Fog
Rising toward the sun
And blissful oblivion.But a voice,
A voice I know,
Calls me back
Into the mauled mind
Now filled to overflowing
With the dissonant hum
Of six-legged tenants.
It's my name,
My name I hear,
And with an effort
That seems Herculean
I open my eyes,
Webbed with red cracks
Like shattered windshields,
To see Pez kneeling
On the fire escape
Beside me."Jesus, you look like sh**,"
She says,
And holds a glass
Of apple juice
To my lips
As she cradles my damp hair
In her lap.
"How long have you
Been out here?" she asks sternly,
A red Yankees baseball cap
With plush Bullwinkle moose antlers
Sewn to each side
Perched on her
Annie Lennox-like
Day-Glo
Orange buzz-cut.
Her hair used to be blue
Before she left
Acid-Addled Walter,
I think, but I'm not sure.
The antlers
Force a smile
From my dehydrated,
Cracked lips,
And she smiles back,
Her ever-present bib overalls
Decorated in dried white clay
And five-pronged
Swipes of oil paint
Where she'd wiped her hands
While at work
In her studio.She places the giant, ceramic
Yellow, ear-shaped ashtray
That she made me
As a birthday present
Four years ago
Next to me,
And hands me my pack
Of Marlboro reds,
Pulling out one
For herself
In the process.
"Christ, you stink, too,"
She says without cruelty,
Sliding an empty
Bottle of Bushmill's
From between the numb fingers
Of my right hand.
"You're off your meds again,
Aren't you?" she asks
In a cloud of exhaled smoke,
Already knowing
The answer,
Causing me to curl up
In the threadbare blanket wrapped
Around me,
In shame.My hands
Are shaking too badly
To light the cigarette
Clutched in my claw-like
Grasp.
She yanks it from
Between my fingers,
Plugs it into the space
Between my lips,
And fires it up
With her Zippo
Bearing a picture
Of R. Crumb's
"Keep on truckin'"
Cartoon.
"Inhale," she instructs me patiently.
The wasps don't like the smoke
And they begin to retreat,
But the throbbing pain
Left behind
By their stings
Remains."C'mon inside, I made herbal tea,"
She says, rising to her feet.
I begin to lift my head
From the grate
That forms the floor
Of the fire escape,
Wincing
As my stiffened neck
And ponderously heavy
Head
Strenuously object.
My left cheek
Peels from the strips of steel
With an unpleasant ripping sensation.
We both start with surprise
When we see
Dried maroon blood where
I'd been lying.
"You schmuck," Pez comments,
Taking a drag on her cigarette,
Mistakenly thinking
I won't notice
Her sharp intake of breath.
"You must have
Hit your fat head
On the railing
As you keeled over."
She says it needs
To be cleaned up,
And saunters inside
With a graceful stride
Over the window's lip,
Walking past the steeping green tea
In two cups on the table
To the medicine cabinet
In the bathroom.I pause a long time,
Then step back
Through the window
Into the apartment,
An apartment now empty
Of any sign
That my wife Alyssa
Ever lived here.
All her books are gone.
All her CDs are gone.
All the decorative ceramic tiles
That Temple gave her
Have been removed from the walls,
Leaving empty hooks that are somehow
Worse than blank plaster.
And the purple cardigan
That had hung
On the back
Of her chair
At the scratched and worn wooden table
For as long
As I could remember
Is nowhere to be seen.I pad toward the bathroom,
And Pez scrubs the gash
In my left temple
With a soapy Handy Wipe
Before applying three
Scooby-Doo Band-Aids.We sit in contemplative
Meditation at the table,
Slowly sipping the tea.
Pez fetches a handful
Of prescription bottles
From the kitchen counter,
Laying out the dose
On each label,
And says, "OK,
Now take the f*****g things
Right now while I watch."
I do as I'm told,
And she nods, satisfied.
I dimly remember
That on the night
Alyssa left, she arrived with Temple and Pez.
In the end
The apocalypse came
Not with the thundering hoof beats
Of four demonic horsemen,
But with the dull thump
Of cardboard boxes
On a hardwood floor
That had seen
Better days,
And the metallic clanging
Of wire hangers
As Alyssa removed clothes
From the closet.Pez reaches out
To pat my hand,
And when she withdraws it,
Three brass keys sit
Silently
Between us.
Alyssa's keys
To the door
To the deadbolt
To the ancient mailbox
With the tiny window
In the lobby downstairs.
I stare in wonder
At the tarnished, humdrum items.
"It's really over," I say absently.
Pez nods sympathetically.
"Forever," I add, and
She nods again.
Pez stands to go, and presses
A piece of paper
Into my hand.
"Here's my number
If you need to talk," she says
In a voice scarcely
Above a whisper.
"Please, please,
Don't do anything stupid."
She kisses my right cheek lightly,
Then pulls the door to the hallway
Shut
Behind her,
Her canvas high-tops
Squeaking, squeaking,
Then fading away.I stand hypnotized
By the now Alyssa-less keys,
Just pieces of metal,
Just mechanical devices.
Somewhere there exists
A parallel world
Where we had a son named Seamus Patrick
And a daughter named Katherine Louise,
And we called them Shay
And Katie Lou.
Where I did readings at book signings,
And she moved through adoring crowds
At solo shows of her ceramics,
And three brass keys
Opened the doors
Leading
To the promised land
Over the horizon.
-- Atticus
poster:Atticus
thread:372750
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20040729/msgs/372750.html