| Jane Becker-Fischer JAPAN A Feather to a Pebble A feather drifting toward a mountainside maybe from an eagle, a hawk or a common crow, feels no mission since it's detachment except to float on the wind landing on a loose pebble that everything depends upon. Which begins to jump down the incline. and comes to rest in a dry creek bed. The Duck Faded brown kimono flapping in the newly chilled wind, the bent and dry skinned woman creeps beside the pond. She is wandering in a windowpane of thought. Stooping where miniscule waves meet the too large shore, her oversized wedding ring slips carelessly to the ground. It will be retrieved by someone with elastic skin and silken threads. Crumbling bread in her hand, she throws it on the water's metallic surface and watches as a swan and duck indulge in battle for it's life giving rights. Her chapped lips curve into a secret smile as the duck squawks it's victorious cry. In Plain Sight I was very small. We were playing a game He tickled me and in child-like reflex I reached out to touch the marbles beneath the lashes. Then I don't remember what happened next. But my mother often told me I scratched my father's eyes. When I was older and he only played with the amber colored liquid that held a stench, He would tear at me with his eyes. By now they were quite crystal. When I would say how it sickened me, My mother would remind me It was me who scratched his eyes. When I could no longer stand the punctures to my soul, I left the marbles where they lay. Behind me. My father's eyes I knew I scratched. A few years later I saw my father, who no longer played with the amber colored liquid that held a stench. He looked at me through glasses now. I knew then , it didn't matter that I scratched my father's eyes. They were not marbles at all. Just blue. What I Know I do not know how long I sat there on the newly laid stone wall. It doesn't matter, to a child five minutes is a lifetime. Maybe it was already 1967. Nor can I tell you how long Memaw tapped her foot on the broken concrete. I do not know what the word is on the doors we came through but the letters were E-M-E-R-G-E-N-C-Y. I think that says hospital. I know this funny smell like clean and dirty mixed, choked me. But I had to help hold Mama. I know I had my Mama when we came to this place. I know that man with the green clothes on didn't want to help her. He say "What you colored folks want here?" My mama spit up some blood. I know I couldn't hold her anymore. I helped Memaw lay her on the white floor. My Mama's dark body on that white floor, She looked like a bruise on a peeled banana. I know the look on them people's face was not kindness. It was disgust. Like when you walk in dog doo. I know none of them wanted to pick mama up. Mr. Green Clothes got two colored janitors. They put her on a army cot in the hallway. I kissed her ear. I know we couldn't wait inside. Least, Mr. Green Clothes said I knew that. While I was waiting I was thinking of what I know. Like, I heard this colored man Mr. King somebody or another, he's been saying he wants us colored to Be the same as the white. Now I in my seven years know that aint going to happen! Then I had to know something terrible. I know Mr. Green Clothes sent the janitor out. He told Memaw Mama was gone. He said they never checked her. I know they just left my Mama there to die. They left her for the janitor. I know Mr. Green Clothes said "communicable disease" to Memaw when she went in. I don't know what "communicable disease" is. But I know I don't have my Mama anymore. So Mr. King whatever- your- name is, you can do what you want. But the last thing I know is I don't want to be like them folks.
© All Copyright, Jane Becker-Fischer. |