Holding On To Glass – A Poem

“I don’t understand how you can do it.”

She said.

Her voice was soft

and her eyes

were narrowed in thought.

“How can you forgive? Does nothing from the past matter?”

I thought of her question

and how loaded it was.

My past was a mine field

that waited for me.

I would step softly along a chosen path,

always careful not

to walk in certain spots.

Those spots held the memories

that were best left alone.

Occasionally however,

I would stumble and fall

upon the grass within my mind

that held things,

memories that I could not let go of,

thoughts that would dig deep

and grow roots underneath,

hiding within my mind garden.

When I would fall upon

one of the mind mines,

it would not explode

in the traditional sense.

Instead, it would bloom

as if it were a flower.

I would lay on the grass,

watching the memory replay

and relive itself within me.

As I looked at the memory,

I could smell everything from that moment

and my ears would fill with every sound

from every second that played within me.

For a moment,

the memory would leave me shaken

and I would remember the

hurt, terror, horror, pain

of that moment.

Then it would fall away into the ground,

as if it were a seed

waiting to grow within me.

I look at the earth that

the memory came from.

Instead of falling into that earth,

letting the darkness that it holds

take me over completely,

I choose to do something different.

I reach inside my pocket

and pull out a seed.

I place it within the hole

that held the memory

within my mind garden.

I pat the earth tight

and water the earth.

I know that now that the memory is free,

that it rides upon the wind now,

heading towards the great unknown

and that it can no longer hurt me.

It is only the memories that I hold on to

that take the most blood,

as if those memories were glass shards.

I stand within myself

and look at my mind garden.

There are thousands of flowers

that surround me and even more

blank space of grass that hold more memories,

just waiting to be discovered again.

I look at her and shrug.

“I forgive because I choose to do so.”

I say.

“Otherwise, I’d be holding onto a lot of glass shards.”

She looks as if she understands.

I look down at my hands

and see the criss cross of old scars

that mark the palms of my hands.

Each one represents a memory

that I held onto until I bled.

Even so,

each scar also represents a flower that I planted

within the garden of my mind,

turning a difficult memory

into a moment of release.

I wander in my mind garden,

and listen to the sound of glass shards

as they float within the wind.

It sounds like music and I wonder

how many more memories

there are to

find.

A Year of You: The Blues of Yhestin Rosebude

His life had finally hit the shitter. He was sure of it this time. And if Yhestin Rosenbude was sure of anything in life, it was heaping piles of manure.

He slung his backpack against the marble floor extra hard when he got home and slammed the door behind him. He stood, silent, counting inside his head. He wondered if she would break her record.

One, two, three, four, five.

On five, he heard the click of stiletto heels. He was surprised; his mother was getting up herself to tell him off; not one of the servants. He had been looking forward to being an ass to the new maid.

A shadow filled the floor of the hallway and got bigger Moxey Pickle, leading scientific mind in neruo-physics at the University, she studied her son with a hard and cool glare. “Now, Yhestin Gafelta Hershel Oldenfeld Rosebude.”

Shit, Yhes thought. She used all of his names. He must be in big trouble now. “Yes Mother?”

“Is that how we behave when we are home?” She asked.

Though he supposed there were some people who thought his mother pretty, he didn’t see it. All he saw was a hardness. “No, Mother.” He said.

“I have told you time and time again how to behave when you are under my roof. I know that young men your age can be difficult and dangerously unbalanced. Did you know that the male mind thinks about sex every thirty seconds? And at the same time, the brain sends a signal to the nipples and the penis?”

Yhestin stared at his mother open mouthed. “What?”

“I mean, well, that means that the male mind is always thinking about sex.” She walked towards him. “Look at it this way my little turtle dove. The male nervous system is a little slow. There are certain things in the male mind and body that make men inferior. It is just natures way.”

She smiled as she said this, but Yhes could hear the icicles melting, could hear the air around him freezing in her wake. “Yes Mother.”

“And, well, if the male brain is slow, then that signal is coming another ten seconds after that first initial attraction. But the brain is limited, Yhestin. There is only so much it can absorb. A man’s mind remembers only two or three things at one time, it is a simple truth. A man is thinking about sex almost continually.”

She reached out and touched his face, ran a finger down his jaw, a soft touch like a feather. “Yes, Mother.”

“That’s my Special Little Boy.” Yhestin groaned inwardly. “I love you Yhestin.”

“I love you, too, Mother.”

She leaned down and kissed him, a soft peck on his forehead. “Mommy loves you very much.”

Yhestin said nothing, he did not know what to say. He watched her leave, the heels of her shoes clacking against the marble floor. He always knew when his mother was home; he could always hear the sound of her voice as she talked into her Dictaphone in her office. He could hear her heels clacking and echoing. Sometimes, it was like the house was talking to itself.

His forehead was still warm from where she had kissed him. It was the first time he had seen his mother in a year.

*          *          *

As he was getting ready for bed, his Nanna McKanda came in.

She wasn’t really his grandmother, just someone his mother hired to take care of him. But She had been with him for five years now. She was all the kindness he had known.

“You have a nice time after school today?” She asked him.

Yhestin nodded. “Yes McKanda.”

“What did you do?”

“I talked to Hasenpfeffer Finklestein.”

“Yeah?” She turned out the light and pulled back the cover of his bed. “And how is she doing?”

“She wants to kill David Hasslehoff.”

McKanda regarded Yhestin for a moment, blinking her large, kind brown eyes at him. Then she let out a laugh loud enough to wake the dead. “Oh, I like that girl.” She said. She wiped a tear from her eye. “That girl has sense.”

She chuckled and motioned to him. “You get into bed.”

He did as he was told, knowing that she would fuss until he did what he was told. She had no family left and the only family he had was his mother. But in a way, Yhestin realised, McKanda was his family.

He heard her footsteps but wondered at the strange glow that proceeded her. He felt his heart leap when she came back into his bedroom bearing a small cake. It had thirteen candles on it.

“Happy birthday, Yhestin.” McCanda said. “You’re a man now.”

What the Snow Can Hide – A Short Story

This is my twelfth Pay It Forward Offering for 2019. I’m a little late, I know! This story features Nathalie, Elaine and Dawn. Enjoy!

*

The snow had come first. Elaine had been right about that.

That didn’t make it fair. She was the eldest out of all three of them. She had been around for more winters and knew its scents and sounds. Nathalie sighed and closed the large leather-bound book she had been writing in. The leather spine creaked, and the pages ruffled themselves loudly. She stroked the cover of the book as if to soothe it. “Shoosh, now. None of your complaining.”

Going to the window, Nathalie looked at the large flakes as they fell from the sky. The stars blinked down at her. Nathalie could see them winking at her through the flakes of snow. When she saw the man’s face, she looked away from the snowflakes and at him instead. His face flickered in the candlelight and she narrowed her eyes so that she could see more clearly.

She gazed out the window and saw the man. He had dark hair and what looked like a fine complexion made rugged by the stubble that covered his chin. He was glaring at their house with an expression on his face. Nathalie couldn’t tell if the gaze the man wore was one of desperation or one of fear. As he started towards their house, the snowflakes falling around him, he began to fade away. Gripping the windowsill, Nathalie tried to see clearly, but the man grew blurrier the more he came towards the house. The one thing that she did see was the knife that he was holding in his hand. It dripped blood onto the snow. Then, as if sensing her presence, the man looked at her, right into her eyes. She saw that he had the same eyes as hers and she cried out. Then the man, the knife and the blood were gone, taken by the wind.

“Fuck.” Nathalie swore.

There was the sound of footsteps behind her. Her sister Dawn entered the living room carrying a tray carrying a teapot, cups and a plate of biscuits. “Another vision?” She asked. The firelight twinkled off of the gold edges of her glasses.

Nathalie nodded, wringing her hands. “It keeps coming. It lasts longer each time and it’s always the same man.”

“Wait until Elaine has come. She is making sure that all the windows and doors are locked and is placing a line of salt around each exit. You know how she gets during snowstorms. In the meantime, how about I pour you a cup of tea?”

Nathalie nodded eagerly. “Yes, please. That would be lovely.” Sitting down on one of the comfortable wingback chairs, Nathalie watched her younger sister as Dawn poured the tea. While several years younger than her, Dawn had the same reddish hair and the same slim oval face that they all did. They got the red hair from their mother.

Dawn had brought her tarot cards, too. While Nathalie had visions of the future, Dawn saw glimpses of it through other means, whether they be tarot cards or tea leaves. She was always accurate and predicted the future with frightening accuracy. Nathalie envied her sister. While seeing visions could be helpful, they often weren’t of any assistance until it was too late. Nathalie only saw pieces of what was to come while Dawn could see a whole path or story in front of her.

The scent of lavender and jasmine reached Nathalie. Dawn had made a calming brew of tea. Perhaps she already knew something of the night ahead of them if she was already brewing lavender and jasmine tea. Snow made all of them nervous. It had always been this way. Nathalie knew firsthand how much the snow could hide and what it could take away.

They heard the sounds of movement in the house. Nathalie watched as Dawn reached out and filled the two remaining teacups. The house began to creak and groan  and their sister Elaine entered the room. The house let Nathalie go where she wanted without making a noise. With Dawn, you could hear her footsteps wherever she trod. With Elaine, the house liked to announce her coming.

Whereas Nathalie had short red hair streaked with grey and Dawn had hair that was the red of freshly bloomed rose, Elaine’s hair was white streaked with grey. The red colour of her hair had been taken away by time and had not returned for some time. Elaine always looked as if she were about to break out in a smile, but Nathalie knew what a smile could hide as well as the snow. When they were all together at their studies, their mother had called them Maiden, Mother and Crone. Nathalie and Dawn often argued about who was the Maiden and who was the Mother.

Flopping down into the couch across from them, Elaine let out a loud groan. “Why does a house have so many damned windows and doors? Would you believe this house has thirty windows and twenty doors?” She asked.

“I thought it had ten doors and thirty windows at the last count?” Dawn asked, handing Elaine a cup of tea.

“Numbers mean nothing,” Elaine said. “You know as well as I do that this house grows and shrinks as it sees fit.”

“Don’t I know it.” Nathalie said. “I’m still looking for that library that was filled with occult books that I found last week. I went back to look for the book I had been reading on Victorian botanicals and still can’t find it.”

Dawn placed a cup of tea in front of Nathalie. “Maybe just ask nicely for the book. You know that it can’t hide things for too long.”

Elaine took a sip of tea and put the cup back down. She closed her eyes and rubbed her head slowly. “Are you okay?” Nathalie whispered.

“Don’t I wish. Why does the snow always bring them out? Why can’t I just enjoy a small glass of sherry in front of a fire during a snowing? Why must they bother me so fiercely every time it snows?”

Nathalie reached out and squeezed Elaine’s hand. She knew that while both her and Dawn saw the future in some way, Elaine saw the past. Specifically, she could see ghosts and spirits. They always came to her in various degrees of dying or they had been dead a long time. Whenever it snowed, Nathalie knew that the spirits bothered her endlessly. Even though Nathalie couldn’t see the spirits, she could feel them. During a snowstorm, the house expanded to provide room for all the spirits that visited her sister.

“Have another sip of your tea,” Dawn said. “I made it with lavender, jasmine, juniper and rosemary. It should help clear your vision and aid you in seeing clearly.”

Elaine took another grateful sip of the tea and let out a sigh. “There are so many of them today. I wish they would leave this old lady alone.”

“How many spirits have there been?” Nathalie asked.

Elaine shook her head. “I stopped counting at thirty. Have you ever heard thirty people talking at once, each of them clamouring to be heard?” She let out another sigh. “It’s a wonder that my head isn’t done in. All of their yammering, it’s constant. I hope the salt will keep most of them away. Enough of that, though,” She gave Nathalie a shrewd look. “What troubles you, sister?”

Taking a sip of tea to calm herself, Nathalie told Elaine and Dawn of the vision. “It’s clearer each time. He gets closer and closer to our house each time as well.”

“How long have you been having this vision?” Elaine spoke sharply.

“It’s been a week or so. Every time I pass by the window, I can see him. Sometimes, I can hear him singing a song, others calling out to someone that I can’t see.” Nathalie took another sip of tea. Calm yourself, Nathalie thought.

Dawn reached for her tarot cards. “Shall I see what the cards have to say?” She didn’t wait for either Elaine or Nathalie to respond and started shuffling the cards. Nathalie knew that she didn’t have to ask her question out loud, that her Dawn would intuit whatever the cards had to say anyways. When Dawn was done, she put the deck down on the table and drew three cards.

There was the three of swords, the nine of swords and the ten of swords. Dawn’s eyes grew wide and she drew a fourth card for good measure. It was the seven of wands. Dawn took a deep breath and let it out. Then she took a sip of her own tea as if to calm herself. Looking up at both of her sisters, Dawn said “There is trouble here.”

“What do the cards mean, Dawn?” Elaine asked. “You know I have no sense of cards or tea leaves.”

“The three of swords is heartbreak and torment. There is pain there. The nine of swords is someone at their wits end, unable to focus on anything else but the mental torment that plagues them and the ten of swords is the end, someone who is finished and has given up entirely. The seven of wands is tells of a fight, of protecting what is ours.” She took another deep breath. “These are unhappy cards.”

“How fitting for an unhappy spirit.” Nathalie said. “These are all well and good, but what do we do now?”

“Weren’t you listening to your sister?” Elaine said. “We have to defend ourselves. We must prepare for battle.”

Nathalie looked at the cards more closely. Pointing at the five of swords, she said “That is the man I’ve seen in my visions.” She tapped the card. “He’s was even carrying a knife the last time I saw him.” The man on the card was so similar to the one that she had seen. Shivering, Nathalie took her hand away from the cards.

“That is even more worrisome.” Elaine said. “We shall have to ready our defenses.”

“Do you really think that is necessary?” Nathalie said.

“Think on your vision, sister. Do you think the man means us harm?”

Nathalie closed her eyes and tried to see past the shadow realms, to see deeper into herself. Then she saw him, the man that had been haunting her visions for the past week. She saw him and tried to go nearer to him so that she could learn more about who he was and what he meant to her, but it was like he heard her footsteps and when he looked up into her eyes, she saw the flash of gold and then a flash of silver.

Opening her eyes, Nathalie let out a cry. It sounded primal and she had never made that noise before. It was one of pain and discovery, of heartbreak and wonder. She put a hand to her stomach, feeling a weight inside her that was not there before. “He has golden eyes.” She said. “He has golden eyes.

Dawn let out a cry of her own and pointed at Nathalie’s dress. There was blood that had seeped into the fabric of Nathalie’s dress where her stomach. With a trembling hand, she touched the spot of blood and took her hand away, looking at the blood upon her fingers. Though she had seen blood before, this frightened her.

The book Nathalie had been writing in before flapped open and the pages began to ruffle themselves as if they were being moved by an unseen hand. The house moved and shook around them, sounding like it would crumble at any moment, so loud were the creaks of wood, metal and glass. The pots in the kitchen began to clang against each other.

“The spirits are restless.” Elaine said softly, worry heightening the terseness of her words. “They are in a torrent of movement around us.”

“I can hear them,” Dawn said, worry coating her words. She moved towards Nathalie, wanting to protect her, but Nathalie put her hands out.

“Not yet.” Nathalie said. “Don’t come near me yet.”

The house continued to move and shift around them and Nathalie could feel it expanding and contracting, growing and shrinking with each passing moment. When she thought she couldn’t stand it any more, when the howl of the wind that was moving through the house reached a screaming pitch, the wooden broom that they kept in the kitchen fell to the floor, slapping the hardwood floors with a sound like a bullet.

All three sisters jumped and they looked at each other, worry on their faces. The sounds, the wails of the wind and the creaking of the house had stopped. It was as if the broom falling had been a period on the end of a particularly long sentence.

Elaine looked at Nathalie with worry in her eyes. “It seems like the enemy is not coming from outside our house,” She said. “But from within.”

Dawn and Elaine looked at Nathalie. She saw the worry there and she knew that it was echoed on her own face. Nathalie could only place one of her hands on her stomach, her skin now slick with blood, and wonder what would come. As the house settled around them, she wondered how they would defend their walls against themselves.

Standing, she went to the book and read what it had to say.

A Year of You: Ignatius Finkelstein’s Secret

Ignatius Finkelstein was keeping a secret from his wife.

This was nothing new. Their marriage, in fact, had been based on lies and deceit. Valetta had claimed to love him yet he knew that all she really loved was his money. The woman couldn’t even give him a male heir. All they had for a child was Hasenpfeffer and she was second rate at best.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. He often wondered if he actually loved his wife and daughter. The wife? No, he didn’t love her. The daughter? The jury was still out on that.

He took the same route he always did. The roads weren’t too crowded this time of night and, within fifteen minutes, he’d arrived at his destination. He did the same thing he did every time he visited this place and looked at it for a while, as if sussing it out.

Through the haze of smoke that filled the cab of his car, Ignatius looked out into the night. The house sat there like a lover, bathed in a soft golden hue of light. And like a long time lover, the house looked as if it had seen better days.

It was dilapidated and slightly worn. The wrap around porch sagged in front of the main door. But for all its faded beauty, the house still held an iota of charm for him, something that called to him.

Stepping out of the car, he locked the car door even as the cloud of smoke that followed him readjusted itself around his head. Looking out at the parking lot, he saw that the place wasn’t too busy, not yet anyways.

As he always did, he felt a moment of fear, a moment of shock at his daring and wondered if anyone had seen him. Of course they hadn’t seen him. He knew that. Ignatius Finkelstein was nothing if not careful.

Gathering a moment of strength, Ignatius left his car and walked towards the old house. It had seen better days, but then again, so had he.

He rang the doorbell and shivered in anticipation as he heard the answering notes ring out through the old house. While he waited, Ignatius picked lint off his suit jacket. He tried not to run his hand over the item he kept in his pocket.

Looking up again, he saw a shape coming towards him, its lines distorted by the coloured glass set into the door. As the footsteps became louder, the shape grew. All too soon, before Ignatius could really calm himself, the door was opened.

A woman with a warm face looked up at him. “Oh, Mr. Finkelstein!” The woman’s was split by a large smile. “I haven’t seen you in a dogs age, come in, come in.”

“How are you today, Ms. Hockneybrow?” Ignatius kept his voice courteous and respectful. “Has there been any trouble lately?”

The older woman gave him a soft pat on the arm. “How many times have I told you to call me Mafalda? I’ve told you time and time again.”

“Every time I visit here.” Said Ignatius.

“Then why don’t you do as your told?” The old woman chided.

“I’ve always been taught to mind my elders Ms…Malfalda.” He said.

Mafalda Hockneybrow laughed and pinched his cheek. “You got a real smart mouth, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Only you.” He said.

She laughed again and led him down a long, darkened hallway. They passed closed doors, noises escaping past the sound proofed doors. Malfalda scowled at them. “Soundproof my ass.” She said. “Doesn’t matter how much padding you give a door, I can still hear you all carrying on.”

Leading him into the main drawing room, Mafalda sat him down on one of the large, black leather sofa’s and offered him a drink. “Beer, wine? Maybe some tea?”

Ignatius nodded. “Beer would be fine.”

“Now, what did you want this evening? There are a few specials on offer. There’s some nice middle eastern that’s particularly popular or perhaps you’d fancy yourself a nice oriental experience?”

Ignatius shook his head. “I don’t know.” He said. Smoke whirled around his head like a storm cloud. It seemed to move and pulse with his words. “I don’t know what I’m in the mood for tonight.”

“Well, you know what to do. Take a look through the albums and let me know when you’ve made your choice. Just press the button on the wall there.”

Mafalda walked away with quiet steps, leaving Ignatius to peruse the albums at his pleasure. Picking up the first one, he opened it and looked at the photographs contained within. It took him only a moment to decide.

He pressed the buzzer. Mafalda was with him again in moments. “I’d like that one,” he said.

“Oh, splendid choice, just added to the menu last week. You’ll be very pleased.” Mafalda said.

“For the money I’m paying, I certainly hope so.”

Chuckling, Mafalda led the way down another long hallway. Steeling himself, Ignatius followed the older woman into the darkness.

What’s In a Name – A Poem

When I left home at sixteen,

I needed another name.

The name I had then didn’t fit properly.

It fit too tightly around me,

and was far too harsh.

After a while,

I realized that it was not the name

that didn’t fit

but that I didn’t fit the name.

I kept my first name

but I let the last two fall away to the wind.

I watched them sail away

to find someone else

but it left me empty

and unsure of where I belonged.

I asked if I could take your last name,

if that would be all right.

I was afraid at what you would say,

at the answer you would give.

You said that you would be honoured

if I took your name.

When I tried it on,

the name fit so well.

It was new and it was mine

but it was also your name.

As time moved on,

we were separated by space,

by seas and by land,

but we always had the connection

that existed between us

because of your family name.

Your name gave me

a new sense of myself

as I reshaped who I was.

However, you were also my parent

for over twenty years of my life.

You taught me to dance,

to let my spirit free to move as it would

and to feel the air around it.

You showed me

what you thought was beautiful,

everything from art and culture,

to music, food and wine.

Though you have gone to live amongst the stars,

I choose to remember you

as the man who was kind enough

to give me his name

and everything that it held

within.