orange

orange

she held a unadorned ceramic bowl in her hands before her breasts and begged 

from door to door

without success 

there was no compassion or pity afforded

they inside saw nothing in giving the old woman a thing

she tried to managed her shoulders  be upright  then uttered a breathless thank you   

turned  and walked away wearily to the next door where she was treated as shabbily

she walked one side of the street

crossed over

and returned on the other side

she halted then at the crossstreet where she had appeared  and had begun begging

a little boy watched her from the front window of his house and wondered why 
his mother said No and asked the old woman to please leave

She looks hungry mommy

Shell have to find her own way dear  We have what we have because we do not give it away

We didnt ask for ours either

he got down off the back of the sofa  went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator 

looking in holding its door open its cold blue air washing over his face and chest

chilling the skin at the inside of his elbow of his extended arm

But look mommy we have lots and lots of food  She really looks hungry

Close the refrigerator  The food we have is for ourselves  We feed ourselves first  and foremost Youll learn that as you grow up

Maybe I dont want to grow up if I cant feed someone who is hungry

he scrambled back to the sofa and climbed its camelback  he often imagined it elephants and horses and buffaloes  riding beside the Plains Indians who painted his face and made him one of theirs  or turning into an animal himself  talking with every other animal he happened upon  because people  people  for whatever their reasons  never talked 
like that together  never came together happily and played in the tall green and brown grass where butterflies fluttered like popcorn and then lazed on bobbing colored flowers or bending grass stalks  or as squirrels racing through the leafy trees and hurtling through the air into anothers crown  ants scurrying  always so serious and busy  snakes twining on each other excitedly  or playing in the blue sparkling sea silver creeks or white fast rivers

he looked through the window through his reflection for the old woman

his mommy call her a beggar 

   

what kind of name was that

 

she stood at the end of his street   still holding her bowl   though it seemed much bigger

  

and bigger

and then her face was directly in front of his

though he knew she was still standing at the street corner

her eyes  deep and purple

her brow furrowed

furrowed like the ground he saw at the farms outside the city

he tilted his head  curious

he thought that she might say something to him

if he was an animal he would have said he was sorry

she spoke

I am sorry that you are so young and this is so terrible  I think you should close your eyes   

It will hurt for just a little bit

the orange bowl was so much bigger now  the sun reflecting in it painted her face with its rays

Ah you look like an Indian

Then be like an Indian too  Close your eyes now

he did

it didnt hurt or burn too much like she said

the black ash that was his head burst like a dandelion someone made a wish upon

                                                                                            everything on the street did

1712,  Twosday,  1  7. 14

                                                                          “You have to make the good out of the bad

because that is all you have got to make it out of.”

                                                                                             Robert Penn Warren

holding up a slice of an orange crescent moon which burned in his fingertips like a

black-arts candle

                             he wondered if Warren had seen the lean Hermits lantern shining

through the dagger trees that ran atop the ridge  

                                                                               that jumped   and fell to the valley floor

an imaginary dotted line  - - -  where it may have existed had the ancient sea not eroded it 

or the planets tectonic plates had not turned ninety degrees on end and sank slowly  

expectantly   into the soft forgiving seabed  - - -  the imaginary dotted line ran to the

horizon   to the distant western ridge that clipped and etched the deep-blue nights sky

                                                                                               the Hermit gazed

back from their long fearsome wanderings with the things they had sought

those desperate things they carried

to share and impart to their querents who would not shy from their filth and neglect

                                                                                                  those things

                                                                                                not easily won

either taken by force in battles gambling they could win  or stolen like a rat at grain

when numbers they faced were too overwhelming  or the emergent skills were wiser

not to stand against   

                                                                                                   now theirs   

their back bent their head misshapen 

they knew what they could not have possibly known 

that they would be approached   and engaged

  

                          as if noses were turned to their breath  a fragrant absinthe   

or their footsteps were heard sounding softly on long-ago mountain fresh snow or

newlyfallen coloured leaves astir by their breath at the forests feet as they slept  or the

devoted whispers of their sandals as they shuffled on lightning-white ribbons and

curled reams of blue sea

                                        simmering on amber sand

Warren 

had he seen the Hermit

was the Hermit his reflection

or was he watching me

                                      watching him                 

                                                                         growing the good from the bad

1509,  Twosday,  1  7. 14