Two Swords
Don’t big the sky reaches for miles up and legwise into the rest of it all. Don’t rest some cows hide in the forest wait for the wolf and them all. Don’t clean small like the wave on the shore where we first laid eyes on it all. So.
When you wake up the swords lie near you. You hear the ringing of the bell but you know it’s only your memory, only the past. The sheets are damp with your sweat, you pull them off and sit on your bed. There are the swords, there beneath you. Reach out and grab them. You do. Hold two. In your hands.
One is ivory, the other red as rubies. They feel comfortable, like you’ve held them before. Peace comes on the edge of a sword, or so I’m told. Doesn’t sound right, sounds like something you’d tell yourself at night. When the sword’s shadow looms.
Regardless you stand, lay the swords on the bed, wash your face brush your teeth. It’s hard to remember yesterday, harder still the time before that. But you know today, your body remembers its way. When you come out you are ready. Throw the shirt on, the pants on, sheath your swords after you put your belt on. Let’s go.
Darling remember the long corridors of your apartment building. How the green carpet is so cheaply made, how the walls are just clean enough but still stained. You remember. There is no one to see on the way to the elevator. You go down. There is no one to see as you walk out to the street. But a cat does show up in the lobby. White. It looks at you. You smile. It smiles. This is a good sign.
Outside the clouds are grey and the sun is hidden, a distant father wrapped up in his own regret. The sycamores are spaced out on the sidewalk and the street is right there. You know the way to go and you go it. You don’t know where it leads but you lead us. Soon we’ll be there, and the small snake of time will whisper you this, the last secret you’ll ever earn.
Yes darling, look around. Breathe deep the air, feel it flow in your hair. You are strong and whole. You’re going to make others strong and whole. Feel the swords at your sides. Breathe deep. Feel your shoulders relax, feel the fibers of your back, yes even your fingers are ready.
You’re at the building and it’s tall and silver. Go in. See the man at the desk look at you. He is old and fat. You smile. He smiles. You’re in the elevator. You’re on the 12th floor. You’re at a big door. It’s black. You’re opening it.
Inside there’s a man on the phone at a desk who looks up. He smiles. “Hi Charlie,” he says, “what are you doing here?”
Say whatever you want, what does it matter? Take out the swords.
“What are you doing?” the man seems to say. Who knows? He stands up. Take the swords and put them through him.
Good work. You did it. Watch him die on the floor. His blood pools around him. He looks at you, repeating his last word over and over: “why?” until his voice stops coming but his mouth keeps moving: “why?”
We’re past whys now. I’m done with you.
