Furnace

by Livia Llewellyn

  shadows sifted through the room like ghosts, cast from the same clouds, the same sun, the same sky as ten thousand days before. they are as familiar now to me as ur body against the red-stained sheets, staring past the ceiling into a future i cannot fathom or divine. my hand pressed down on ur chest, feeling ur heart gallop under all the layers of bone and skin, and u grew quiet and ur breath stilled and daylight crept from the room. i thought many times of peeling u apart, burrowing clawing through the layers into ur dying center, gnawing the bones and piercing ur eyes with the shards, snapping each rib one by one by one until ur lungs grew still and the arteries drained and ur small firm heart nestled against my palm, until i bathed in all the molecules of ur meaningless life, draped myself in ur soul, and rose anew, as one with everything u ever were.

  how everything changes with a single word

  how do u live ur life like this, so apart from everything in this vast existence except ur distant Creator, so at peace with being alone, apart. we lay next to each other in blood and piss and tears, my horns tangled in ur matted hair, our breath winds in and out of the others lungs, and ur eyes see nothing, ur skin feels nothing, u do NOTHING to seek me out, to discover what terrible invisible glorious power binds u to this moment, compels u to relive this day again and again. all my work, all throughout time, to make u pliable / soften resolve sweeten despair sharpen fear, so long have i toiled and crashed against uFUCKING LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME SEE ME. see me like u did that first day that one time please i beg of u SPEAK TO ME O human star o love. are u a test. have i failed.

  do u remember the word u spoke to me. do u remember the smile. will u not give these again? must i bite and scratch and claw it out of ur face and cracked teeth clattering down as i pull apart the cartilage grind the tongue meat forked and shredded searching seeking destroying but u do not remember. i eat each day and vomit it up and gorge it down again, until everything u ever were in me resides, the fuse that drives u mine.

  must i take everything. do i.

  yes

  Date Unknown

  a Gnossienne of the Heart—(unknown)

  do u remember when i left u? do i remember when u left me? Time is measureless to me, Time is as air is as the dark wounds and tears through which i travel unseen and endless horizonless alone. and the city spreads out below me glittering sequins of tiny human souls thrown down against a net of electric fire an inferno of falsity and lies encased in canyons of profane steel. and i but rancid garbage caught in the dervishes of machine-made wind, adrift and without purpose. o my Prince, is this what u see, u feel, as u wander to and fro amongst ur souls? and the forest below is still, and ur brown-stained bed sheets empty.

  Time is weight. Time is measured calculable movements of human-forged horror, each as slow and meaningless as the one behind and before, Time a river, Time a great hooked chain dragging us to no place with no purpose, tethered bits of flesh. Time divides.

  o empty star, each day i descended into the churning engines of Time, of un-nature and unlight, i descended amidst static and disruption, iron blades backwards, clocks unwinding, water in circles recoiling fast away. and the hospital shuddered at its granite foundation, patients vomited and bled, tongues spewed languages long dead, and all things foul and fair cried out as i worked worked worked against Time. before ur bed ur wasting flesh i stitched myself to the fetid air, commanding u to arise, to wake and fall into my arms, to say the Word as u had once said it before. walls cracked and mirrors shattered, and the Creator’s minions scurried back and forth in their wine-dark robes, chanting His lies, evoking our brothers to save u. but my flies and shit kept all who thwarted me away, their eyes bled when they read His lies, and His book became as ash in their broken hands. again and again, i lowered myself upon u. u did not stir. milkglass eyes. parched lips. i placed my tight-sewn mouth ever so gently against urs, against ur nipples, ur cunt. everything u ever were is gone. everything i ever

  no

  in the indigo hour before dawn, in that fleeting sliver of light when i can catch my reflection in glass silver stone, i stare at the wide black gash of my mouth, now forever shut. cruel Prince, to give ur loved ones only half the knowledge, all the pain. beneath the thick iron stitches, swollen skin, bright gold stargodfire rests beneath my tongue, warm and alive. everything u ever were, everything u will ever be. everything i ever—

  and the pain comes not blood or flesh or bone it rolls over me and the knowledge o sweet Prince the knowledge the burden of Time, the horrible skip of my heart. i have u have all of u possess u tight and neat and IT IS NOTHING. NOTHING. nothing. and ur hand, so small, at the small of my back. what i would give. what i would give. and i cannot swallow cannot breathe. it is all that is left.

  and in the indigo hour before dawn, after the quakes have subsided, i slipped between the rough sheets, curled by ur side. my hand so large against ur belly. ur hip warmed my cock, and my breath dampened ur breasts. and when i left, when morning chased me away, they found u bruised and beaten, ribs cracked, acid teardrops festering in the hollows of ur neck, skin dissolving like sand in the hissing waves.

  o my human star. one second. one moment. one word. i have all of you and nothing, except one moment one word. i would give anything. i would give everything, to bring it back.

  everything.

  so.

  Date Unknown

  the last lost day—(ocean shores, washington, 1975)

  and ur little body lay crumpled in pools of water, cold ocean-old pools of salt and sand and rust. the groan and crack of decaying metal all around, hiss of the waves rolling in with winds and night, and above u, the jagged hole still weeping with ur blood. beyond: endless darkening skies, and nothing at all. pain at one shoulder and fear at the other, clarion-calling each other like long-lost lovers, and the waters rising ever so higher, hitching up ur broken bones, ur flowered dress, ur slender shivering thighs. screams pure and high as starlight shot through the air, never breaching the hold, falling back down all around the cavernous waste.

  u closed ur eyes. and the waves rushed and thumped against the wreck like the beating of some great unseen heart, and the waters lapped and caressed ur waist, slid across ur small breasts, lifting u up and down. and the cold grew in power and nimble fingers of water pushed the hair from ur forehead and eyes and black winged summer night closed in, around, down, furnace-warm but not enough to keep away the cold. and hard uncaring, unloving ocean covered ur lips, slid forked rivulets of brine into ur mouth, down ur throat and u breathed it in, and the world and the waves and the wind grew to pinpoint, ur body a million years away, and all that was left of the universe was nothing—/

  /—was a kiss: a bright gold fuse of stargodfire unfurling from a single unstitched whispered word coiling into ur heart, an explosion of wings unfurling and lifting up, hot breath against ur face, warmth thunderclapping through ur blood and bones, and the roar of the waves thrusting against the beach, the hand at the small of ur back, a lover’s touch at ur face as u opened ur eyes, standing alive and whole on the beach before the Catala, rusting high and dry above the grassy dunes.

  and u stood shivering hound-like, dripping wet hand at heart, under the white gulls’ cries, under the scudding clouds and the lowering sun, stood before the Catala, the ship with the hidden treasure, the ship u had never set foot on—/—fallen on bled on died. Stood until the nerves bit and prickled in ur legs, and the shadows lengthened and reached u, brushing against ur toes the small of ur back the tender hollow of ur neck / the translucent flesh of ur ear, all set afire by unseen whispers warning u away, and: u flew, a girl-shaped human star shooting up the long flat dunes through the grass and over the naked driftwood piles, racing away the miles of stone cold coast until u seemed as small and unreachable as the far-off circling gulls, never stopping, never looking back through all the joyful goldenfused years of ur life at the broken wreck back on the beach, the broken black-hulled monster rusting away, unstitching un-working un-working, repairing all the broken momen
ts until Time endless Time spiraling Time swept it all away, scrubbed it down to clean pure sand upon which my love, my memory, had no reach or purchase, until all that remained of the moment was U, and the Glorious Word.

  do u remember now?

  u do not.

  i do.

  The Unattainable

  …one thousand one…

  There’s a dream I once had long ago, a girlish fantasy I’d almost forgotten—and now I’m remembering it again, today of all the lonely days I’ve lived. I stand alone on the flat dirt of an arena. The flame-eyed stallion stares me down, foam-flecked lips curled back. He rears, slams his weight into the earth: I don’t move. I know that by seeming not to see or care, I make myself the unattainable, the thing he longs for most in all the world.

  And after time passes, the wild thing approaches, fear subsumed by curiosity. We dance in the empty center, limbs weaving rhythms hesitant, intricate, until I’ve mounted him. Now I’m astride his wide torso, hot muscles shuddering between my legs. He bucks beneath me, fights my weight against his heart. Yet I hold on, I will his fear to pass.

  And it does, because he wants to be under my command, he wants to be broken. But it’s only when I’ve ridden him pain-wracked to the ground, and still he pleads for my touch, do I know I’ve won. In the calm center of submission, when all that binds him to me are the reins of trust and love, I press against his steaming neck, and whisper in his ear:

  “Now you’re mine.”

  Of course, there are no feral things in this world. There are no flame-eyed stallions, no dragons to bestride. Nothing wild exists; and I’m old. Twenty years of bad jobs and nothing to show for it, except to turn tail and run across America, back to my old hometown. I’ll fall into the void of my twilight years, and no one will remember me. At least, that’s what I’m thinking as I drive the long curve of 97 into I-90. The hills part, and Ellensburg appears in the valley, backlit by the gold of the setting sun.

  Twenty years haven’t made a difference. College buildings still rise like neo-Gothic queens from the flat expanse, challenged only by the subtle mound of Craig’s Hill and the white alien spine of the stadium. Cars stream ahead of me, ruby lights flowing into the town’s throat. I roll down the window: hot air rushes over my face in dusty sheets. It’s a wide and clean smell, like the scent of my first lover’s skin, the night I lost my virginity on a sagging dorm room bed. He was a corn-fed stud, thick-limbed and heavy-cocked. I forgot how much I loved that smell, the taste of it in my mouth and lungs. I’ve forgotten so much, I realize.

  Bright hoops of lights shine at the town’s darkening edge, candy-colored tops gyrating above houses and trees. They disappear as I drop further into the valley, but now that I’ve seen them, I know what to listen for. Calliope music, high above the hum of traffic and wind, laced with the roar of a grandstand crowd. The sounds and lights mean the fair is in town, and with the fair comes the rodeo: horses and horn-crowned bulls, and all their men.

  Tomorrow I’ll cross the Cascades, drive to the house I was born in, slink inside. I’ll sit by the window, remember all the things I lost in life because I was always dreaming of something else. This little town below me is the last bead on a necklace that’s been falling apart for years—soon it’ll slip off with the rest. All I’ll have left is the wire that binds me to nothing, except useless childhood dreams.

  That’s when the old fantasy floods my mind, pushing reality aside. I shift in my seat, trying to shake off the weight of the late-August heat. Sweat trickles under my clothes, pools between my legs. I need a shower. Something wild, that’s what I need. A pleasurable ache blossoms inside as I think of cool water, the rough hands of a stone-faced stranger running soapy hands over my breasts, while I lift one leg, guide the red tip of his flesh into—

  A burst of horn snaps me out of the daydream. Wincing, I fall back, letting the car I almost rear-ended disappear in the traffic ahead. I rub my hands on my dress, clench the wheel and concentrate. And yet, my mind drifts. One thing I never did in Ellensburg, all those years ago. One last bead, one last sparking jewel. One last chance to catch it before it falls.

  Hotel names float through my mind, but they’ll probably all be full. It doesn’t matter. I already know, wherever I end up, I’m going to stay the night.

  …one thousand two…

  Parking on the north campus lot takes half an hour, and the ride to the fairgrounds just as long. By the time I stumble down the shuttle steps, it’s that odd hour before twilight, when a thin veneer of silver coats the shadows, sharpening the edges of everything. I pay the price and walk through the gate, stopping to look at the brick-red back of the grandstand. Crowds surge and disappear inside. The bulls will be in the arena tonight, the rankest beasts in the nation. Only eight seconds for each rider to hold on in order to place—but I know too well how eight short seconds can turn into a lifetime.

  To my left, Memorial Park has been transformed into the midway, with Tilt-A-Whirls whipping screaming kids through the air. The stately O of the Ferris wheel hovers like a portal to another world. Odors of popcorn and sawdust, barbeque and leather saturate the air. It’s like a big family picnic. I feel out of my element, clumsy—a middle-aged woman in a limp cotton dress, trying to get out of everyone’s way. Wandering through the stalls, my eyes fix on men young and old. Men with children, men with wives and girlfriends, men with their buddies and friends. Stetsons and Levi’s, clean-shaven faces and light-colored button-down shirts. All of them, with someone. A couple walks past, high school kids. The boy’s hand is hooked into the girl’s jeans, revealing smooth, tanned skin. Her hand rests on the back of his neck, playing with strands of hair. They’re in love.

  In a panic, I slip to the side of a cotton candy stand, away from everyone. What was I thinking? I don’t belong here. This little fair isn’t the Puyallup, where the midway blots out half the sky, where crowds of ten thousand clog the grounds. I could get lost there, unseen in the crush. But here, I stand out for what I am. A big-boned woman on the make. Floozy. Whore. Inside my dress pocket, the grandstand ticket crumples into a tight ball. Somehow it slips to the ground as I walk away.

  A volunteer tells me where the exhibits are. She also points me to the beer garden—the look in her eyes tells me this is a woman who knows about the booze, because she’ll be hitting it after the midway shuts down. I thank her and move on, determined to reach the stock barns before they close. Maybe I’ll find someone there, some dirty stable hand who won’t mind five minutes of humping in a cobwebbed corner with a desperate woman on the run from herself. It’s a depressing thought, but it keeps me going.

  I pause at the race track surrounding the stands. Behind the high chain-link fence, a horse approaches at bridle pace, the rider steering her down the dirt. A rush of noise from the grandstands, drowning out the announcer’s metallic voice. Did someone get thrown, or did they win? I turn away, just as the cowboy catches my eye. Not that I wasn’t looking. But it’s the horse that makes me pause—a roan, glossy and tall, perfect form. She’s a wonder, and when the boy hears my gasp of pleasure, he smiles.

  Yeah, a boy. Barely out of his teens, so bright and flush with youth that it hurts to stare at his face. Yet when he winks, I blush and grin like a little girl. He’s not my type, he’s far too pretty and young, but I’ll take what I can get, nowadays.

  “She’s beautiful,” I say. The horse tosses her head, dark eyes looking me over from under a fringe of hair. I don’t submit, her mouth implies, firm against the bit.

  “Don’t let her know that,” the boy replies, as he steers her over to the fence. “She thinks too much of herself.”

  “May I?”

  “Sure. She’s gentle.” The boy watches as I stroke the long muzzle, his eyes never leaving me.

  “You do know you’re headed in the wrong direction,” he finally says. “Rodeo entrance is that way.”

  I point in the opposite direction. “Yes, well, the beer garden’s that way.” The boy laughs, and touches
his hat.

  “Well, ma’am, maybe I’ll see you there later.”

  “I highly doubt it. You don’t look old enough to drive.”

  “I’m driving her, aren’t I?”

  Now I laugh. “Oh, I think you have it backwards.”

  The boy winks. “Believe me, I’m old enough to do a number of things. I just might prove that to you later on.” He guides the roan away, leaving me rolling my eyes even as I revel in the flattery. Turning away, flustered and unseeing by my small victory, I run smack into—

  The words freeze on my tongue. The man standing before me stares me down with a face so sharp and cold, it’s like being punched with black ice. By the time I’ve caught my breath, he’s slipped into the crowd. People push past as I stand transfixed, shivering in the heat. All I remember of the face under the dark Stetson reminds me of Mt. Everest, in the black slits of his eyes, the weathered angles and peaks of his profile—a face I could die of exposure on. And why should I care to remember what he looks like, I don’t want to think about him. Yet, I can’t stop.

  At some point I’m moving again, although I don’t know what my destination is, or what will happen when I arrive.

  …one thousand three…

  I can’t see the land around us, when his truck finally stops. But I know I’m near Kittitas, the small town just east of Ellensburg. I found him in the barn with the Black Angus bulls, and it took longer than eight seconds to get his attention. Yet somehow I convinced him, made him take pity on a woman with no home, no place to stay the night. So when the floodlights dimmed and the gate closed, he let me follow him out of Ellensburg and down quiet roads to his home—a small white bungalow surrounded by large trees and endless clear sky.