Breadcrumbs for another

“Little one?” he set his hands, lumped with the years of work, upon her smallest toe. from the base of his palm to the highest point of his middle finger managed to comfort barely even half of the nail of that toe, but still he hoped that he could offer that thin bone a bit of warmth. the Little One couldn’t possibly have heard him, as their head was high into the atmosphere where many that were his size wouldn’t even imagine trying to breathe, but maybe? He had thought,

maybe still.

The world was beginning to flood. Little One had, for reasons unnatural to them and violent it seemed on their behalf had begun to weep day before. Tears the size of smaller worlds thrashing down upon them had begun just days before to the point that even the General Shermans were thinking maybe they should have worn their highwaters rather than Sunday’s best.

“Little one?” she didn’t know where she was: a knee, the crease of the arm, maybe even a collar bone. She had climbed for months to get there. Calling the entire time. A thought pushed her on that worried not for what had been lost for beneath her sat an unexplained sea of salt that was violent, that was large enough and deep enough to demand the entire restarting of all of them. They couldn’t swim such depth or murk and the creatures that could were hungry and happy enough to welcome them.

“Little one?” Again the voice of warmth rang out and for whatever reason, in that moment the raining had stopped. Bridges were lost, sunken like whole cities.

“Little one, why?” Equal parts confusion and concerned pleaded to the face unseen. a large, low wind suddenly blew across the planet. Moans that held tone but no clarity, just bass caused waves. So the warmth voice tried again, barely holding on.

“I am here, I am here, I am here and I want to know.”

Then came a rumbling unlike anything. The little one quake shook the sharks awake and shook the wood of the boats others had built in anger and detest against the violence they perceived to be upon them. Some Wrathful God, maybe even their Wrathful God- so others knelt down to appease.

The little one slowly Shrunk. Ask Alice, she will tell you, such things. Impossible things can happen this way. While still larger than the rising sea but small enough to not be mistaken for Hurricanes and Tsunamis, the Little one settled and searched for the warm calling.

“Mother? Father? are you home, are you here?” The booms were still loud like fireworks, but if they wanted to make them out- and they did, they could.

“I did not mean for this to be this way. I loved the streets my feet could fit on, I loved the smells of warm bread and the voices of other. But One day I knew that your Little one and their Little one were. I began to fill up, and I filled and I filled and Suddenly I had filled so much that I started to cry to stop. I had tried anger, I had tried grief but ultimately what i had needed was to pour. And look at what i’ve done! Even this is wrong.”

The rain began again.

“Little one!” the meek voice pleaded. “What have you done besides become more visible? All light demands to be seen on some scale.”

and the rain stopped again.

The hardware floor is always cold isn’t it? And the tile, and vinyl, and laminate. small ghosts scurry from the lips of the morning, as she tries to give a bit of encouraging yellow but the carpet and the crescent just scoff.

a(n) backwards me) on the path) I call CARIN, will you know me un)(dressed and de) )serving this close, so close to human. I am yet people aren’t born this way.

today little one you are unwell. your father scurries around and I find myself shoving my worry into corners while I act as mountain for both your floods. Your father is giving you his all but he doesn’t understand quite as well as I do. that’s normal at this age though, so no worries. I know I don’t. I’ve never seen a man love a woman like he loves you. I did you well, even though I will spend AT LEAST the next 13ish years yelling at both your soft spots.

And he does love you as a woman. he loves the brilliance he sees in you. the athleticism. he loves the humor, the questions, the weirdness, every aspect as you will grow into a beautiful woman who a whole human is. that’s what he loves and he fears he won’t be good enough or up to the task or you will misunderstand him.

but i am here to translate. I am here too.

as i love you as a woman. for your kindness, your compassion, your brilliance, and your capacity to be fucking whatever you need and want.

sleep deep in your unwell, little one. and know we are here to get you through anything and everything. on your side but honest and genuine for the sake of your experience alive.

i love you Aeris. We love you Aeris.

get well soon.

what types of conversation will there be?

Tucked into the crows feet of your aging smile, you’ve collected the spit of your peers as they talked you into smalldom. A tiny, fragile piece of nothing you’ve become these days, Margaret yet here you are. Two legs, knees knocking, in my fucking face… So i’m listening….

She wanted those words to make her skin pimple. She wanted to burn a son where men could only bore apples yet could conjure nothing. not even the void looked into her. It could. perhaps it at one point even thought about it. But sitting here arms hanging limp but not heavy at her sides, nothing would bother with something that wouldn’t bother with it- yanno. Nothing in her neck cracked as she arched her shoulders like a cat and rolled her entire head, cartoonishly, demonstrating just how unamused she was.

Sluss,

yes, Margaret

Can’t we just both be tired of this by now?

no, Margaret

His eyes almost seemed to sprinkle the reflection of lips too moist from a mouth producing too much saliva. he didn’t smile but what he did, seared a bit when her glance caught it. that was the entire power he had all of this time over everything. something that seared a bit when your glance caught it, but not before. maybe not even after. how had long had it been now? So long people even had begun to gossip and tell the story wrong. which, honestly, tells you nothing.

But i am tired and this needs to be dealt with. they’re just suffering at this point.

Sluss’ lips made a sharp m shape as he rubbed the bottom corner of his chin. he liked these games with her. she used to even believe them. that he cared, that he was considering.

But Margaret, his breath was hot and smelled. if they all die then it’s just you and me. you don’t have the resolve to hate me infinitely and we have so much time left. Why should I care about them? Why do you care about them? You don’t even miss your father.

Her teeth gnashing into her lips as dry as they were caused them to bleed. He didn’t know this nor would he have ever assumed it even could’ve been something other than the passion he filled her with.

Then it will be you and I, you ugly wretched piece of shit. you will listen to my wailing and my remembrance. you will suffer my melancholy. And, you will rot away in the boredom of my sorrow. it will just be you and I, and I will make you fucking miserable.

the toad face her wet eyes focused on was wider, longer, and something much closer to truth than the yellow brick road.

how many times can someone look into their own trauma with hopes of boarding up broken windows? At what point does someone have to accept that they will forever live with the silvers in their hands?

The hurt like passing road lines, with small gaps of reprieve between them- you scuttle on. On©e thought: this was the burden of life.
Somewhere, a sunflower stretched its neck, thirsty, the day that you were born. Blind with instinct a round bulbous head looked up and looked west. It sought warmth which nourished and its yellow fingers danced greedily at the plate set in front of it.

Somewhere else, One woman (women) winced and whined. Tried not to scream. Screamed. You had decided today was your day and no one was to deny you. what courage(!)? what hope(!)? both had their own flavor to season those ideas with.

and with (de)termination you tore open a canal and dammed up the river of tears. Your small bones, millions of pulled out silvers; healing and healing.

tucked between the folding fan of my ribs, you scrunch like seeking shade from blistering sun you cocoon, you struggle to make wings

such slow revel and oh(!) the spectrum of red have you shown me this week

i’ve missed much i’ve never known and even more i’ve never met but you, you you you

and I. I know.

Today is always the first day of many days, isn't it?
I haven't heard your wailing and (my baby knows how to be born) I am nervous beyond the measure of space (my body knows how to birth) but I am waiting&writing for you. I am here, present in this time, listening to the music of 38/5

the sharp twangs of thigh strings the low brass tones of pelvis and spine. build your city in my twilight, child build your city high.

* bold and italics credited to Chikara Rutledge, thank you for the words to carry