THE VISIT

Waiting for the visit wasn’t that hard. The sky kept me company. Spiderweb tendrils hung the moon and the stars. I was just a vessel. Waiting.

I waited for many sunsets. Sometimes the sky was the orange of a newly-peeled peach, sometimes the reed of fire, and other times the purply-blue of bruise and sometimes like the blush upon pale skin.

Other times, it was field of daffodils and I was lulled by their beauty.

I fell asleep on them. The curve of the cloud my bed. The petal, my pillow.

Sometimes the world felt upside down while I waited for the visitor. It was a mosaic window all glued together or a patchwork quit sewn haphazardly.

I couldn’t see the way the world was then. Seeing straight was luxury.

But even then, the moon still hung there. My friend. Full or crescent or half. In those times, I would take anything.

Sometimes I climbed to very top of the tower and screamed for the visitor.”When are you ever going to arrive? When?When?”

And I never got an answer.

When the storms came was the best time.

During the storms, I waited for the lightning instead of the visitor.

Sometimes I wandered, lost, to the edge of the sea.

I made a game of it. How many of the clouds looked like dragons.

How many of them were real. I made quotients and divide d the fake cloud dragons by the real ones and the equations made sense.

I was outnumbered. Their wings fell like cloaks. They flew me over the sea.

The waves singed my feet. So cold they felt hot.or was that the breath of the dragons? I couldn’t tell the difference. I thought of jumping.

Nothing was ruled out when waiting for the visitor. Even the tree could use for pass the time.

Their leaves were a canopy. When they fell, I heard them whispering to me.

“I am coming. Very soon. You shall know me then.”

The promise would not be broken. I knew it. The rocks were my pillows and I slept on the words of the leaves. I trusted them.

On the days where half my mind was gone I imagined those leaves as ships and I, a miniature version of myself upon them. I, the captain, and you, the first mate.

You looked out for me. At the seascape, the treescape, the skyscape.

Three balloon held us up and we flew through my cloud of bruises, and peaches, and fire and daffodils.

Until the lightning struck. Just when I didn’t want it to. And each balloon popped too loudly in my ears. And we fluttered to the ground. And my first mate disappeared, ashes upon the wind.

Sometimes I remembered what I had made up and what I had not.

I climbed up again, after the ashes. Even though the tower was crumbling and a storm was coming.

There was a black tornado and I waited for it to swirl me up and take me to you. The visitor who never visited.

I waited still upon the dilapidated shingles, once grand and royal.

Just a little longer, I told myself.

Through many seasons, I waited.

Rain fell.

With every ship, my heart rose at the thought of having you back again.

I could be whole. I could be the person who never hurried time. Never waited.

I could be the person who danced among the leaves, the waves, the sky.

But it was never you.

And I thought of how your ship must be lost somewhere underneath the sea.

I begged the moon to tell me where you were.

But the moon only smiled in the sky.

Until one day a raven brought me a message,

“Go,” it said, ”live.”

Stop waiting for me.

And once I made the decision to abide the raven’s message.

The visitor came.

And the snow was so white and clear I could see my reflection there.

It was me.

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