Bramah and the Beggar Boy
Page 11
Trouble is Fear,
double-edged ware
Fear is our fists
dare you to stare
Look at our fists
our blood on these stones
Trouble is Fear
we’re locked inside here:
Hey Bramah, throw us your file
golden and green
bring us your key
Trouble is Fear
we’ll get out of here—
A Blood-Stained Letter & Other Things
Dear Travellers,
Found:
1 journal——
only these ripped pages remain.
1 mask, left behind, decontaminated.
charcoal streaked and dusty——
These instructions, these three hologram plates.
Our supply of lasers long since depleted.
Fare Forward, Voyagers: Hologram #1
We transmit this encampment bombarded
last night’s walk through minefields
light interferences, separate sources
transmission encampment no one recalls
enough morse code to make it worth trying
light interference, separate sources
silver under moonlight, slow-motion dials
many wrong turns. Inner harbour, bombed out
hotel refuge, blue carpet descent, down
a thousand stairs, cordoned, infection controls
security, nonchalant their devices
IED baby, beggar children chanting
wash your hands, jump the fence, don’t you dare cough
alley barricades, waterfront unknown
sector name unknown, a child stares past us
light interferences, separate sources
we bend to him and then——sharp explosions
clutching at our cloth masks, we run toward
light interferences, separate sources
Perimeter’s Edge
Fare Forward, Voyagers: Hologram #2
Past midnight a dog barks lonesome, memories
flood all the zones—we huddle alone
night illuminated only by fire
place, a series of shards, we imagined
comfort, tea in fine china, all gone, songs
of the Beggar Boys, un coup de dés
jamais, jamais, they sing into the night
that time we escaped, it were a Poacher
his dog barking, at first, we paid no mind
only by the fire to realize late
the dog a hound, and the hound belonging
to Guards of the Fifth Gate, their faces shielded
—we pressed into the wind, again running
streets, mud rutted, torn masks, ripped blue gloves
glass, condoms, cast-off plastic flowers
a beggar child limped following behind
he was barefoot, shoelace tied lopsided
round his neck a copper key, he led us
to side streets, we night-walked into their camps
Spanish, Vietnamese, Arabic, French,
the children ran away screaming, Wash your hands
ha ha ha, wash your hands—
night illuminated only by fire
we sang with them,
IED baby, un coup de dés
Fare Forward, Voyagers: Hologram #3
—tires stacked, flame sparking rusted barrels
hands burnt, memory an inside ruse, fleeting
to finger cloth, squares cut, crumpled piles, worn
women squatted to touch, turning this way
Mask Makers’ hidden camps, forbidden to—
as if making unleavened, bread-cloth, shared
A few contemporaneous notes
something about the need to save a chalice
diagrams shoved into our hands, trembling
streams of people, abandoning their homes
shoulder to shoulder, we followed their gaze
turned toward smouldering city towers
That’s over now, that’s all gone they kept saying
and kept moving, marching ever westward—
Heard Outside Tower Juniper
At dawn’s first light, Guards of the Fifth Gate, marching:
No easy win! we’ve paid for this Jester
No easy win! His tilted head, his wicked grin
By noon, grey clouds shrouding the Sun, at Detention Centre C:
Drones or spells, muses the Investigator,
his cold eyes narrowed; his half smile down-turned.
Guards, he calls, bring me that old village spy.
At dusk, those women of the Wishing Well:
Come all ye children, bring her locks and keys
sweet branches ablaze with a thousand bees
There’s our little Abigail growing up strong
her limbs brown and golden, her hair so long
By midnight, only strands of mists swirling.
Abigail, Abigail, come to our well.
Your future, our weaving, we’ll never tell.
Abigail, Abigail, come to our well.
All your lives sundered, in these waters dwell.
Where’s that little Abigail, we’ll never tell.
Abigail and Aunty Agatha at the Farm
Heard Outside Aunty Agatha’s Kitchen, 2058
Says Aunty Agatha to her sister Aunty Tabitha, who is stone deaf:
Hah. That thing.
Pay it no mind.
Surveillance
Drone supposed
to be hidden
And there she knits,
always the letter A.
And drop a stitch,
and pick it up,
always the letter B.
Oh, bring us the green and the gold,
names unknown, she croons.
Silk and cotton
Seeds and glass
says Aunty Agatha.
Oh, the air on the farm,
cheery and warm.
Not a leaf on the trees
says Aunty Agatha
our Spring is forlorn.
Aunty Charis,
long since dead,
the Book on her lap,
a pin. Not even the drone
can pick up a ghost!
We Live On Just Like That
Every generation finds their own A!
A is for Abigail, for Agatha, too
crooning at night, there’s our Aunt Tabitha
one after t’other, we’ll now never tell
an A to spin Fortune, her wheel be well
cardamom and ginger, parsley and sage
imported, hoarded, and our chickens caged
turmeric and onion, our rhymes to plump skin
we’ll mend your limbs straight, smooth and strong——Bramah
throw us your Pippin File, unlock this gate
our kitchen is calling our ovens stoked warm
Masala stir-fry sweet honey and spice
lavender crumbled in our copper pots,
north mixing east, west meeting south, Bramah
English Raga maid: your book full of names
every generation finds their own A!
Just like that.
Aunty Agatha’s Initiation into Portal Maintenance
In their cabin in the woods they chimed glass
stemware from the Before-Time: Swor-off-ski
with each toast their laughter rang out raucous.
To Good Health, they said, masks under their chins.
And a Bad Memory! Then, they fell over
giggling, coughing. One TV wire snaked
illicit Big E hookup, contraband
whisky, flavoured vapes, their eyes still clear
enough to count acorns, gree
n leaves turning
red-edged; warming, a smoker, straw-filled skeps.
Each season, they met and said the same things.
Each decade, Earth’s tilt, toward and away:
Bring us the linden tree, Bramah, they’d say.
Sweet flowers and bees to fight another day.
Aunty Agatha at the Ash Tree
Ashley of the Ash Tree
bend your branches and protect me
send your Furies, three by three
scythe and sickle, sow and owl
all my enemies befoul
Ashley of the Ash Tree
three Erinyes avenge me
smote two down, I won’t frown
Ashley of the Ash Tree
all your work hide from me
mother of the three winds
Norns and Fates and Furies
iron, copper, flint and bone
to those against, your hand like stone
Janus comes, forward, back
who speaks ill of me, you’ll attack
Ashley of the Ash Tree
scythe and sickle, sow and owl
loose your winds, my words do spin
Bramah sends us far and wide,
holly, cedar, oak you’ve seen
ruby, maple, neem and gold
from earth, in you, no dearth
Queen Kali protect me
join forces, fleet as horses
Ashley of the Ash Tree
protect all who love me
safe and strong my love’s along
Queen Kali’s sword up and down
Ashley of the Ash Tree
send your Furies three by three
scythe and sickle
flint and bone
your hands of stone
smote two down
I won’t frown,
Ashley of the Ash Tree!
Aunty Agatha’s Lullaby About the Year 2020
Abigail, come here. This iron hearth, this
kettle, pour; one cup for you, one for me:
I’ll tell you a tale, your mother before——
I’ll tell you a tale
in the year she were born 2020
moths, rats, smoke drifting, a virus rampant——
Anyways, here is the butter to churn
green and golden these sticks, matches to burn.
This is what I sang her, your mother:
In the year you were born 2020
gases and chemicals layered our air.
Your mother, your father: numbers who died
Aunty Pandy swept us, laughing worldwide.
In the year you were born 2020
small-fisted children sent to us in care.
In the year you were born 2020
schools disbanded, youth gangs roamed wild and free.
They painted red spikes, we locked our front doors
traders resold stocks, unable to see.
In the year you were born 2020
Aunty Pandy laughed, her sly cruel smile.
Come Aunty Pandy, broom held and cough
in the year you were born 2020.
Aunty Agatha Remembers
The year you were born, cotton, tomatoes
blocked at the border, all the planes shut down.
That Guard on the Ferry followed me home.
He come here asking a lot of questions.
I told him about all our masks handmade.
I baked him a pie, apples laced with jam.
Face to face, I laughed; flour sprinkling my board.
Them hospitals full, them gurney beds gone.
His eye on my lips, mirrored and soft smooth.
I stirred him a drink: mint and nightshade mixed.
Them fires blew south, east, north, smoke drifting—
him leaning against the sink, his gaze on mine.
Then I took him out to the Wishing Well,
his laughter unsure, his gun there to dwell.
Aunty Agatha Teaches Abigail Two Farmhouse Songs
Skipping Song
There’s our old Aunty Agatha
Seen her walking with Aunty Tabitha
Spry and nimble, silver moon thimble
Patch ’n Mend Dig and Bend, those two
Aunties in the Pantry, honey cakes bold
Their hair so grey, their skin so smooth
There’s our old Aunty Agatha
See her chat with Aunt Tabitha
Oh, those two will never get old
Race you to the Wishing Well!
Race you to the Wishing Well!
The Widow’s Song
No more God, no more belief
no more husband and that’s a relief
dead my dear parents, and all my children
Gather round, all my nieces and nephews
Gather round remnants and pieces
Barter me fine and barter me close
Bring me good woollens, and clean cotton sheets
silks for my handkerchiefs, and butter for my feet
Hide that one lipstick down ’neath this bed
When I die take me to the Wishing Well—
The Young Dr. A.E. Anderson as Told by Aunty Agatha
At the Wishing Well, cherry blossoms fell:
Said Aunty Agatha to Abigail
that year, 2020, when she was born,
I learned again three steps forward and back,
the power of curses to boomerang
milk turning sour—all the women on the Ferry told me,
Just you wait, Bramah will be here, but no
she never come; I tell you I tell you,
that seething year, teeth grinding, jaw held tight,
a bucket of doom flung, clattering
on these pebbled well walls, hard luck arrows
shooting past my hair gone frizzy with grief
the more I raged against Consortium,
the well dried up, my hens would not lay eggs—
I tell you, Outside Perimeter, them
doctors delivering babies, her too.
What’s that? Yes. It were both her parents,
took real bad by, well you know how it was—
Just a minute though, first I must tell you
once upon a time, many years ago
I crept to this Wishing Well, hah, young legs
bent low, my ears pinned back to hear laughter
in sunlight a string of curse words floating
into the air, disintegrating parts
each letter a bird, sharp claws with swift wings.
Aunty Agatha scratched lines; embers stirred:
See here, girl, never let curse words
fall on your hearth
Aunty Agatha Takes Abigail to the Wishing Well
The Collect made us swear never to tell
never ask me whose land it is we stole—
Well anyways, we did—
register title and thus ever since
them boys brought me ashore it were all stumps
one hot July afternoon upriver
I learned real quick how to catch things and skin
rabbits, wild turkeys, salmon when they run.
Thimbleful of rice, night of no moon:
handful of salal berries, bushtit wise.
See, that’s the thing, the well hides her dark eyes.
Afternoons best, overcast days, net cast,
sit still and watch, that River Woman said,
The heedless ones lay their pantries with stone.
Mind you go slow; you’ll keep meat on your bones.
Anyways, doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Laugh and cough, patch and mend, I see your smile.
Until Aunty Pandy sweeps in, watch out!
You’ll need to marry book learning with stout.
Then she laughed long and hard, wiping spittle
her mouth two edges of torn dirty lips.
From Perimeter, women crept up the hill.
Aunty Agatha held Abigail back,
apron strings untied; a small pouch given
them settler women kept their voices low.
And Aunty Agatha did too, saying,
Lavender crumbled in our copper pots,
east west fusion mix, one pinch gets you kissed.
Later, long after those women walked home,
They brought their sorrows to our Wishing Well
we’ll wash their daughters, and they’ll never tell.
Just like that–—
Aunty Agatha Gossips About Her Long-Dead Husband
Now then now then now then, pull these carrots
oops-a-daisy, naught be lazy, pull and bend
When he bedded me, he said through his beard,
You’re not getting any younger, then he coughed
I tell you; I tell you, never bake bread
when those clouds puff out their chests and hold rain
Never mind about him anyways, he’s
long gone, his ashes I scattered near here
For the love of the Mother drop those sticks
Don’t you know how to make a fire yet?
If money were flush, I’d put up a rock
“Never Ask a Woman Her Age, Old Socks”
Now then now then now then, pull up these beets
red and round baking, remember those sheets!