Low Lying Clouds In a Pearl Colored Skye~

~"In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine." — Milan Kundera (The Unbearable Lightness of Being)

There was a field outside of Pápa

that coaxed the clouds to ground;

my journey into the sea of poppies was completely unintentional

that late winter day

I was not supposed to find such beauty, for

Wednesdays were usually meant for monsters

but really, they could show up anyday

 

Poppies never bloom in winter

girls are not supposed to bleed so young

joy was as ornery as a stallion about to be broken

and tomorrow did somersaults into yesterdays

until time was a bloated flower

ready to scatter and reseed;

this is how I lived my youngest days

any wonder, I am madder than a hatter in a Belle jar?

 

The day I found the field

rich with a hundred thousand red poppies

seducing clouds out of the skye

I also found the Russian soldier, out of his army coat

looking like any man enjoying a fine day;

but I knew, even so young, that there were no such things

as ‘any man’

and so my approach was wary

curiosity shoved with little fists pressed against floating ribs

 

What a lot of people forget

is that I am not a pigeon made for comfy holes

I was born in a world of mythology stuffed and well kept

under glass in father’s manse

I saluted Lenin and sang his songs

and marched with the rest of the town on May Day

past padlocked churches

to the building with the shiny star

pledge allegiance to communism

here, here!

and cheers

with apricot brandy

 

The soldier recognized my ambiance

over a broad shoulder

a line between his brows

“Your father will be angry. You’re far from home, little girl.”

they all knew father

each one bought

carried in his pocket

but there, that day I hardly heard him

for the scent of dying was thick

the coating of blood on his leather gloves, fresh

and, noticed by little girl mind

cast the somnolent poppies

into a sullen hush

under pearl clouds

 

I once ran into Gypsy Town

hidden like a tarnished brooch at the Northern throat of Papa

night crucified inside shiny black eyes

candles and torches burning the winter out of the air

that’s where I stumbled upon Maria

and the generational secrets

that are as mundane and every day as any man born to sin

with the only difference being

how close to home they murder innocence

 

Blue eyes glancing off red poppies

the dead girl beside the soldier

so white in her naked display

her throat an open dream left unfulfilled;

she was a singer

he was her lover

her killer

in that town

in that year

of 1968

the two were interchangeable

that love thing

that thrill kill thing

 

We left the dead girl in the field

the poppies sighed

was it relief?

I think so

and the soldier was kind enough to remove his bloody gloves

before he took my hand

and walked me under clouds

back to the monsters of Bone Woods

 

My body holds a lot of secrets

My cells contain the scrolls of the inhumane condition

Like poppies

Under the clouds of my pearl bones

 

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Author's Note

for Kerry's Sunday challenge #2 http://www.writerscafe.org/contests/KERRY%27S-Sunday-Challenge-%232/13815/

Reviews

[LilyT]

Yes, we forget that behind your beauty is the history of a flesh and blood woman who has endured the greatest fires.

What a lot of people forget
is that I am not a pigeon made for comfy holes
I was born in a world of mythology stuffed and well kept
under glass in father’s manse
I saluted Lenin and sang his songs
and marched with the rest of the town on May Day
past padlocked churches
to the building with the shiny star
pledge allegiance to communism
here, here!
and cheers
with apricot brandy


Selene, you sure know how to really get into a heart.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

You said it girl... when we break from the norm of societies standards we become our true selves and find true happiness and meaning in life... Damn fine job.

[Celeste21]

Growing up way before you should have to. Witnessing the ugliness of the so called adults, and realizing even at that young, fragile age how human's are capable of extreme cruelties. The little girl in the story seemed like she constantly sought truth. No matter how much it cast her out of her father's shadow and unwakened new morbid nightmares that weren't illusions at all, but completely real.

[Crowley]

Oh my.....this was like a dream of acceptance of a time and situation that is totally unacceptable. Not sure if that made sense....such context dulls the senses creating monsters of the time and monsters that hide in the heart for lifetimes. Unbelievable visual and emotional directness, dirt scraped from under the fingernails of war, oh and there is always alot of dirt. Historically, it didn't even have to be hidden. Great and profoundly sad. Loved this.

[Ed Hart]

like walking through a war zone, in the end, what can one say, except, this too is a war zone...it's hard to keep the blood off your boots, when you're walking through