Delaware Dad

Story within story.
Narrative and subnarrative.
Journey within journey.
Lives within epochs.
Writing my story on fate’s tablet.
Enjoying the show.
Grateful to God for this adventure.

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Skeleton faces hold us down
Pushing poisonous flowers in our noses.

We sleep.
We dream of howling.

We wake bound in a watery cave.
The howling is real.

Blue light refracts from somewhere
through mineral rich pools.
The animal crys are distant.
Are they animal?
Are they distant?

We writhe within vines
binding ankles and wrists.
Scrape against rocks too smooth.
Slimy algae grows along the water’s edge
We roll into it and coat our constraints.

Working and worming until we are soaked and spent
But free.

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A clattering like hollow bones
echoes through the rocks.

With each hand and foot hold
white dust sticks to our clothes and skin.

Nowhere is the way level
Each movement demands attention.

Breath is interrupted by chalk in our throats.

The clattering rises as we traverse
the endless field.
It takes on rhythms.

We see no life
But something is
at work on that sound.

We dare not pause
until the rhythms cease.

The silence transforms the rocks
into gleaming white tombstones
over our heads.

At every edge of our sight
is movement.
Pale figures against alabaster stone.

They close in around us.
Covered in ashy chalk.
Some carry large bones.

We are surrounded.

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Ragged foothills lie
beyond the moors.

The tortoise leaves us
and recedes back into the mist.

Rocky teeth jut out of the ground
making our way treacherous.

We are pursued.

Centurians of the dragon city detest our escape.

We clamor into the unsteady outcrops.
Far enough ahead, for now.

We find people trapped
between fear of the monsters behind
and fear of the journey ahead.

We scramble on.
Rocks breaking and sliding under each step.

A great white mountain stretches before us.
Safety at its summit.

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We are alive in a tortoise shell
In the shadow of a dragon city.
Safe and hidden in this ancient amphibian.

Lumbering through foggy moors
Away from the flaming conflicts of the citadel.

The battle doesn’t know we exist
Warm and dark in our living cave.

Peaceful and protected
Plodding farther into calm.

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The sun slowly settles.
The kettle whistles.

Hot water over dried black leaves.
We share smiles through fragrant steam
     held close to our faces.

Impatiently we wait.

The water tans.
We sip and breathe in.
Oolong on our tongues and in our noses.

The sun sits a little deeper.

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