Thursday, December 09, 2010
Maria and I watched as they folded the bright wheel up
and placed it on the back of a trailer. The wheel that,
just two nights before, bumped our heads against the
stars. So much dream packed and taken away. It
dimmed our eyes.
Maxim. Dismantling a County Fair teaches youth the
brevity of dream.
At the end of the hallway of my Grandparents' house
glowed a night-light Portrait of Christ. His blonde hair
golden in the soft light adjacent to the bathroom, a guide
and refuge to lost souls. Fear of the dark often drew me
under his light. I'd lie there looking up at that face.........
And slowly fall asleep dreaming Christ's face into setting
and rising Suns.
Maxim. Glory goes to the Stars.
Jalil bent double in the stairwell. A nightly observance he
performed with the same alacrity as daily prayers. Air Raid
sirens blasted like mad Djinn wailing over the city. He
was moved by the assonance of the sirens and explosions.
He began to sway. The earth trembled as if it, too, was
resisting an urge to dance. More and more he wished to
see the fire and smoke. Obedience kept him in the well.
Then he'd think about Fatima, his love, and remember
the dream of rockets trailing like tresses of her hair
in the sky.
Maxim. Light and Love bend in simile.