Sometimes a Lion(Working Title)

Sometimes a Lion (Working Title)
by Kenneth Price


A lion circles. It leaps. It roars. It’s fierce. In its love it is fierce. It kills and never regrets. That’s what I was told. That’s what I believed. I was a lion and I was fierce. I killed. I lived to see my name in lights. From an early age I would hear my name chanted in blood boxing circles. The dank pits of human pain and fear. I left my name in the blood of my rivals on the dirt. No fight lasted more than minutes. My fists were claws and once I clamped down there was no fighting it. Like an animal, the opponents, the victims would squirm. They would fight for air, but like the mighty lion I would stand in triumph. With blood burning through my veins and in my eyes. Seeing red. Seeing death. If someone showed a fight I would circle. I would claw. I would fight. In a fight I was fierce.

I grew up the child of a riverboat captain. He would leave from Manaus and cruise up and down the Amazon all of my life, taking goods or people wherever they needed to go. My mother died giving birth in a small village along the Amazon River. I don’t think my dad ever quite forgave me for killing his bride. She was only 21. They married because of me. It was the right thing to do. His problem is that he had so much fight inside of him but he never allowed it to escape. It was bottled up so much that I tend to believe he eventually died from it. He missed my first fight. And he missed my last. It’s from his crews that I learned to scrap. A child in Brazil is exposed to a lot of fighting from the time their born. Jiu Jitsu is a national commodity and the point wasn’t lost on me. One of the engine workers on my father’s boat named Thiago would spar with me. We would tumble and roll. Thiago had fought nationally for a while. They called him “Belezo” or beauty. He took hundreds of shots that would rip other men’s faces apart, but he walked out of the ring never cut, never bruised. On the riverboat he still looked sterling. Untouched, hence his nickname. Belezo taught me to fight, but he said it was in me, all over me. It grew in me. It was in my spirit and my spirit was a flame of unblemished war. It was Belezo who took me to my first fight. Trash cans littered the alley and it smelled of urine and sweat. The alley was dark and intense and it leapt with the shadows of warriors swinging and jumping and dodging against the walls. We walked through the alleys and into an open area. The flames of torches ate at the sky and lit up a hidden back yard that we had just stepped into. A dirt patio lined with three foot walls covered in dry blood and sweat was the focal point of the yard. I tripped over my foot and stumbled. I managed to catch my balance as Belezo grabbed my shoulder. He directed me towards a group of men talking. “I’m going to make some money off of you, lindo.” Belezo whispered. “Steady hands, strong heart. Stay right here. I’ll be back in moments.” Belezo mingled with the men and shook hands with a larger man. The man was apparently the one in charge of the fights that were happening in the back yard. Belezo grabbed a drink and walked back to me. I was the fourth fight on the six fight card tonight and I was fighting a boy two years older than my twelve years. He had never been beaten and was making his way into the boys Jiu Jitsu league that had started in the past months. His name was Rodrigo and they said that his fists were heavy and his feet were fast. I was not afraid. Belezo had told me that the fire would guide me. We watched the fights prior to mine and I had been confident that I could have hung with any of them given the chance. Belezo knew it too. It came time for my fight and I stepped toe to toe with Rodrigo. From the crowd I heard shouts for “Rowdy”. I assumed that was his nickname. The ref stepped in and told us the rules. Fists only, no biting or scratching. Keep it clean. The fight was on and Rodrigo had smothered me like a blanket. His fists pounded into my gut and into my side systematically. I felt my eyes go a shade dimmer as a fist pounded into my skull and I reeled, expecting to hit the floor. My instincts took over and my fist doubled through Rodrigo’s stomach unexpectedly. He spit up blood and took a step back. My head stopped spinning and red covered my eyes. He would pay for the pain I was feeling. I was blinded with rage and my hands took over. The first few shots he blocked with great strength but in moments my fists found places to go. The side of his mouth. The bridge of his nose. His left ribcage. A beautiful stinging blow to his chin. He fell. The referee refused to allow me closer and the red removed itself from my eyes. As Rodrigo doubled over and hit the mat he reminded me of an event that I had witnessed as a child. A lion in the city when I was a child had escaped the zoo and went on a rampage through the city. People fled in fear and would hide in their homes praying that the lion would not pay them a visit. My father and I were unloading freight off of the riverboat when the lion closed in on the dock where we were working. A member of the police saw the lion and withdrew his gun. It took 6 shots for the lion to fall, but he hit the ground feet from my father and I. He laid on the wood whimpering until it breathed its last breath. His eyes were fixed on me. El Rei had been his name, The King. The King lay dead in front of me and as I blinked Rodrigo stood up and touched my gloves. “Good fight, rookie!” Rodrigo said and walked off. I screamed into the night at the pure satisfaction of wrecking someone the way I just had Rodrigo. The adrenaline pumped solidly through my veins and I was alive. I had never felt this feeling in my young life and I knew instantly that the only way I would live is through these tinted eyes. Belezo grabbed me up in his arms and cheered loudly. “Leâo, you have made me very proud!” Lion, he had called me.

That name would stick with me through the series of underground fights I fought, all through Belezo’s restless eyes. For years after the fight, the name Leâo would be whispered any time we would walk into a dark alley fight. Then my break came. Belezo told me about a small fight in Rio that promised a spot on the next national tour. I would have to compete against a Brazilian, Abrau Costa, who had beaten fifteen straight opponents and was promised a shot at the belt as soon as he defeated number 18. He was a gentle man in his normal life, but was fierce in the ring. He had an intense love for his mother, Edeli, and rumor was that once a man had spoken of her inappropriately and he had broken every finger at every joint on the mans hands and that was simply to compliment the bloody nose and black eyes. I had grown to be a fierce competitor, myself, and prided myself in my undefeated record of 12 wins in the amateur circuit. All of my wins had compiled to a mere thirty minutes of ring time. The name of Leâo was now being mentioned in the pro circuit as a shoe in for the belt. Belezo was proud of me and promised me a shot at Abrau as my first fight in the professionals. I found myself for the first time since my first fight nervous and unsure if I could actually compete at this level, but Belezo pushed me forward in my training. He would have me ready for the fight, he promised and I would beat Abrau handily. The fight approached and we went through all of the press conferences and weigh in and as the big night arrived I found myself in a nervous anticipation. We would fight second to last and I was an underdog in the fight. I was expected to get torn apart. He had a few kilo weight advantage over me and in twenty seven fights he had lost one, which started his climb back up to the top with the last fifteen. His twenty seven pro fights to my twelve amateur was enough to allow for a large slant in his direction. Belezo had taught me over the years that pain is only weakness and that if I didn’t die in the ring I would become stronger. Abrau and I had run into each other the day before the fight at a local restaurant and he had shaken my hand and wished me luck. He was a gentle man and I couldn’t see how any of the rumors could have been true. He had knocked out three quarters of his opponents though and I refused in my mind to view him as a gentle giant, but as a deadly foe who would kill me if I didn’t defuse him first. He was dangerous and I was in danger. I prepared in the locker room for 30 minutes and said my final prayers before the fight. The officials ushered me from my locker room and into the arena where my opponent waited for me in the ring. My fate was in my hands and what I did in that ring would make or break my destiny. All I could focus on was the roar of the crowd. If I could harness that power I would be able to ride the wave into the fight. The men who worked for the league prepped my face for cuts and checked my gloves for any foreign objects and I was ready to go. Before I realized it I was standing in front of Abrau once more, but his amiable look was gone. He meant to kill me. My eyes flushed red as the bell rang and I jumped out of reach of his first jab. He followed it and missed with his next shot. I retaliated with two jabs of my own, both of which found flesh. He stumbled backwards reeling and I followed in with a few more quick jabs. He was used to receiving punishment, though and he jumped back into action. We locked up and the ref had to remove us. We fought back and forth for the entirety of the first round. I was amazed that one of us hadn’t caved yet when the bell rang, but I was ready for whatever he could throw at me. Belezo was in my corner and he yelled in my ears, “You are strong, Lindo! Make him pay! Steady hands, strong heart, Leâo.” The bell rang and I jumped up to go toe to toe with Abrau again. We began dancing once again and I rattled him with a few quick jabs and he returned the favor. He pounded me with a few intense shots to my sides and finished the combo with a shot to the top of my head. The red intensified and I could see Abrau hitting the ground in my head. I unleashed a series of punches towards his head and could feel them sink in. He began to tip backwards and spun around. I continued to pound his face with various jabs that Belezo had taught me and Abrau stumbled towards me and came to rest on my shoulder. The ref pulled us apart once again and I found an impression of Abrau’s bloody face on my shoulder. The bell rang and brought round two to a close. Belezo told me two things during the corner time but I heard neither. All I could think of was the abuse that Abrau was about to feel. When the bell rang I jumped forward and began to punish him. He took two hits to his cheeks and one to his temple and then disappeared from my eyesight. Dead weight rushed the ground and the force of all 200 pounds slammed into the mat. Its bloody impression showed itself as Abrau’s face bounced once and twice and came to rest. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. I had knocked out several opponents but I had never seen them react like this. Blood pooled around Abrau’s head and he didn’t move. The referee jumped in and raised my hand as the winner, but my hand fell as heavy as his body had. Tears relieved the red from my eyesight and I fell on my knees in a heap of human flesh. My body draped over Abrau’s and he wasn’t breathing. His corner rushed towards me and pushed my weight off of him and I couldn’t move. I wept bitterly for what seemed like hours. I had killed a man. My hands had killed a man. Deep sorrow engulfed me and the rest of the night was lost in its river. A lion kills and has no regrets, no remorse. I killed. I regretted. I was no lion. I was an abomination.

Pain shot through my head and I sat in pure terror and regret. How could I allow this to happen? I was not worthy of life. I was worthy of death. An eye for an eye. I left the stadium undetected and fled to my hotel room in Rio. Belezo had tried continually to perk me up and say that these things just happen. That it would be no time at all before I would be back in the ring and my fists would be raging. I knew that my fists would never be used to bring forth pain again. I would never fight again. My first pro fight would be my last. As I slept that night the sorrow returned in waves. I dreamt all night of that fateful moment that I saw my right hand speeding towards Abrau’s temple. The fist sped quickly and as it made impact it blasted a hole through me. It blazed and left a hole inside of me. I was unable to breath or even think. I lay looking at the ceiling and saw El Rei stalking my father and me on the dock all those days ago. As I blinked the child that I was turned into Abrau and I knew better to look at El Rei. The lion was now me and I was mauling Abrau. Out of instinct I knew what had to happen next and shouted at myself to turn, to run before it was too late. In seconds blasts resounded and I felt the bullets blaze through me and I was on the ground. Abrau’s empty stare haunted me. When El Rei escaped he forfeited his right to any life whatsoever. Now, much like El Rei, I had no right to life. I had taken what hadn’t belonged to me. The tears flowed constantly and would not stop for the rest of the night. Belezo called several times but I would not answer. I eventually fell asleep in the early hours of the morning. The next few days were spent in my hotel room with the curtains pulled tight and no lights on. Nothing to remind me of my sin, my iniquities. I had been selfish and I was responsible. I left one time. Abrau’s funeral was being held a few blocks from the hotel. He was nothing short of a national hero and thousands upon thousands of people showed to give support to his family and to mourn for the fallen. I slipped on sunglasses and a hat and made my way to the procession. I followed it on foot for what seemed like an eternity. I had to find his mother. I had to offer her my condolences for the atrocities I had committed and then I could rest. The procession weaved through Rio and into a cemetery. I found his mother after the mournful ceremony. I had been unable to hold back the tears or waves of guilt in days and they didn’t stop even to wish my opponent well into his afterlife. I would pay my respects and drown in my sorrow. I fell on my knees at Edeli’s feet and removed my sunglasses and hat and succumbed to the tremors that had been tearing at me all morning. I reached for her hands and startled, she withdrew them. “How can I touch the hands that killed my son?” she whispered quietly. I managed to whisper, “I’m…I’m…Please forgive me…” for no one but myself to hear. Fresh tears made their way from the corners of Edeli’s eyes and continued to fall silently. “I’m afraid…I can’t, child…It’s much too fresh and you have removed the scab. Time will heal all hearts, but not now. Let the wind take over and carry our sorrows far away from us. Until then, menino, Steady hands, strong heart.” She said, almost pouring salt in my wounds. Her words haunted me, “Time will heal all hearts…” She had said so understanding but so condemning. How could she be so sweet but still curse me to hold this burden on my own?

I picked myself up and made my way back to the hotel. I would dream but never sleep from that day on for many years. I would dream of myself in the ring punching at an unseen ghost. I would make contact and know that I had delivered the finishing blow and look up to see Edeli’s face in shock as she fell to the ground. I would see myself beating Abrau jus as it had happened and him falling into his mother’s cradling arms singing to her son, “Time will heal all hearts.” She would sing in a haunting Portuguese. Time will heal all hearts. It had been weeks and I sat wide awake on my bed, now back in Manaus listening to her haunting lullaby that belonged to her son, that now I had stolen much like his life. I was a filthy coward and a thief. Time might heal her heart. Time might heal most hearts. It would not heal mine. I deserved less a fate than Abrau who had gone down in my paws like the gazelle, unknowing and innocent. I awoke from one of the dreams with blood all over my hands. A nosebleed covered my eyes with red and I immediately rushed to remove the curse from my eyes. When I removed my hands I saw Abrau lying between them in a pool of blood. I cried deeply and the sorrow enveloped me. The lullaby began to play in my head. I took from my desk the journal that I had been using to document my dreams and my remorse and regret. “The terror lives inside of me and it will not leave my head. I see that poor boxer who was only looking for livelihood and fame and I stripped everything from him. I see the mother who had one thing in the world, her son. I took that from her.” I walked to the bathroom and started the hot, soothing bath water, the only escape from the constant dreams except for the alcohol. I took a deep drink of the bourbon that sat on my dresser and continued writing, “Leâo will have one more victim. A wise woman said that Time will heal all hearts. Let this purge you of the hurt that has encompassed your world, Edeli. Abrau do not haunt me anymore, I wash my hands of this. An eye for an eye…” With that I pulled out my pocket knife climbed into the tub. I began to breathe deeper as the steam rose and met my face. I unfolded my knife and breathed in death. This would finally be over. My hell on earth would be over. I traced my left arm with the sharp knife and felt my blood release from its captivity. My mind spun from the relief. Disoriented I made another cut in my other arm but couldn’t even trace my arm before my world went dark and I sank beneath the water. My world went red. Edeli, Abrau, forgive me. Time will heal your hearts.

I awoke to a white glow. A frail hand held mine. When I regained my sight everything was a blur. I looked around the haze and I was lying in a small hospital room. Doctor’s voices echoed from down the hall. I heard a bird chirping from the window and a weeping sound from my right. “Oh, God,” she said, “Have mercy on him, my Father! Awaken him, Father. Give him a new life.” I turned my head and in my daze I could barely make out a withered woman with grey hair weeping with her face down beside my bed. My eyes slipped into darkness, but I tightened my grip on her hand and the prayer was stopped short. She simply said, “My son, you’re awake!” I had never seen such grace in my short twenty years. She spoke softly and quickly, “I must tell you a story, menino. Years and years ago I married a man. He was a beautiful man and he promised me that he would love me forever. He fought for a living and it made me so nervous to watch him fight, because I knew that it was dangerous, but I supported him because I loved him. We had a child and he promised that when his son was old enough to realize what he was doing that he would quit professional boxing. That night came on my son’s third birthday, but not by my husband’s choosing. My husband boxed that night and he killed a man in the ring. He calmly walked out of the ring and as he left he was jumped by the dead man’s brothers. They beat him lifeless and threw him off of a bridge into the Amazon River. My son knew his father for three short years of his life, but it was already in my son’s blood.” She started crying, but continued to speak, “You see, menino, my son cried that night, as if he knew what had happened. I never saw my husband again after he left the arena alone. I watched your fight in Rio and when I heard of your suicide attempt, I knew that you needed prayers, menino, because I knew what you had done would wear on a man.” My world was still shaking and I couldn’t focus on anything as she spoke. I was in such a daze from the medication that I moved in and out of her story. Her voice sounded so familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it. I had heard it all along since I had faded into the red and as I lay unconscious. She had prayed for me all along. She continued, “My husband, Belezo, they called him. He was an amazing fighter. The only fighter that I’ve seen with more talent and ambition was his son, Abrau.” My world spun as I dipped out of my haze and her face spun in clarity. Edeli sat at my hospital bed. “Time will heal all hearts, menino. I am holding the hand of the man who killed my son, but this man has now become my son. I forgive you, Lucio. I forgive you, son.” I was unable to breathe. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and I was fighting to find what was left. I had killed myself but God had given me another chance at life. Everything came into perspective in that moment, “An eye for an eye.” She whispered. “You will never replace Abrau, but you owe me a son. An eye for an eye.” She smiled deeply and I couldn’t help but join her. The deep sorrow was gone and all I knew was Edeli’s smile. “Belezo is still alive.” I whispered. “I know.” She said, “He saved me. I sat in despair after Abrau’s funeral and he came to me and apologized for the years of grief. He held me for hours as I mourned for Abrau. He made everything right and he covered my wounds with the palms of his hands. And he saved you. He found you and brought you to the hospital. All the way here he held his hands over your wounds. He wore your blood. You see, child, he tried to help you over and over again, but you tried to do things alone, just like me. If I had been looking all those years I would have seen him. That’s why you fought Abrau. It was because he knew that you would fight his son. What emotions he must have been feeling to see one of his own die and the other die emotionally. But he does it everyday. You see. They found Belezo’s body in the river all those years ago. I checked your father’s records and he never employed Thiago Costa. You, in a bloody mess walked to the hospital and checked yourself in on your own. They have your bloody footprints tracked all the way back to your house, menino. Belezo was looking out for us. He brought us together, but he’s been dead for years.” I wept silently as she whispered, “Get some rest menino. Steady hands, strong heart.” She said with a smile. I held Edeli’s hand for what seemed like hours. I was overwhelmed at the beauty of life. I was thankful for Belezo. Beauty. I was thankful for the forgiveness that now saturated my life. I was thankful that God had given me a second chance at this life. And I was thankful that time heals all hearts.

No One Was Dancing(Prologue and Ch1)

Prologue: From the Lips of Southern Prophets

My papey? My papey, God rest his soul, was as brilliant as brilliant comes. His word was gold. He would say, “Thane, it’s gonna come a time when people won’t care much too much about the world dying around them. It’s gonna come a time, son when people is gonna do what’s right in their own eyes and nothings gonna stop them from doin what they wanna do.”

My papey died in a hit and run, ridin’ a bicycle across the street. I reckon that and his prophet warning is what made me want to keep the world in my palms. The problem is these days…and I always love to hear people talk about these days. It’s always been these days. These days you can’t hardly even tell what’s happening in the world. There’s war and terror and mistrust in the government. In my day if you had told me there was room to keep the government at an arms length, that arms length woulda been knocked off by someone who knew better than to bite the hand that feeds.

The shame is the war and terror…they’re goin right on in our hearts. You can’t pass somebody on the sidewalk without wondering if they’re ready to turn you with a knife to your throat. Even one time in county that old boy, Reb Thompson, short for Rebel, got shanked by an ole’ prisoner who said that he looked at him the wrong way. Well if that didn’t make the warden madder than a Missouri mule…sent that old boy straight to the ‘lectric chair on that very day. Didn’t need no due process. A shankin’ was due process enough. Didn’t even give that boy time to cool down before they tossed em in the ground right next Reb. Saved money on funerals, the way we saw it. At lease then we had some idea who ta look out for. These days you can’t tell the gangbangers from the politicians as far as I’m concerned…

I worked my way up from Sherriff Deputy to top brass in the FBI. They would always say, “Thane, as honest and as much of an old timey straight shooter as you are, you can do anything in this business.” And I reckon I have. What you’re about to find is my last will and testament for the Bureau. These files will tell you some outlandish sorts of stuff an I reckon that only the parties involved will ever know the real truth. But you? You can make your own decision. An’ I’ll tell yah, you should know that some of the names have been changed to fit the integrity of the cases they represent. And by all means, know that these stories are just the way they wanted them, in a voice that fits much like their own...

I just keep thinkin, yeah Papey, I spose you’re right…

and as ol’ Mr. Dylan said…The times they are a changing…and I sure just don’t know what to make of it…

One: A Discussion over Sunday Brunch

“…and oh, yes. I have the fire shut up in my bones.

Tomorrow when you wake up, eat your breakfast. Generic corn flakes with 2% milk because that whole stuff will kill you. A banana for potassium and you’re set.

Orange juice for vitamin C.

and Fiber. Get your fiber.

For a full helping of the gospel, take two parts faithfulness, three parts prayer, one part selfishness and mix. The byproduct is some unholy cross of blessings and curses. These are the things that wake you up at five in the morning to a throbbing headache and numb appendages. Yes, you’re alive. Yes, you feel this.

A shower to steam the wrinkles from the lipstick stained shirt you wore last night. The night before. You don’t worry about cleanliness. If cleanliness is godliness, you’re a heathen.

A Pagan.

Prophet of Baal, repent from your wicked ways. Or don’t. It’s none of my business, yet.

You walk into the closet. Another pair of Dockers slacks and a pressed to perfection pink tie to match the beauty of the lipstick from not so much your wife. not so much your mistress. not so much your lover, friend.

I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but these things won’t save you.

Your professors would tell you that too much negative anything could kill you. Too much good intentions mixed with too much tranquilizer will kill any sized cow that you put in front of a gun.

Too much blood in your system, yeah, that’s your big worry right? Well, too many red blood cells, that’s called polycythemia. Think athletes, think steroids. Adrenaline laced throughout your body. Too much red blood leads to tumors in your liver. Liver tumors produce too much cortisol. Too much cortisol and you can end up with Cushing’s syndrome. Cushing’s syndrome leads to fat deposits in your face, arms, legs, whatever part of you that you don’t want fat build up, there it is. No dear, you’re not pregnant so don’t waste good money on tests. You’ll want to look into liposuction. You’ll want to look into a good gastroenterologist. And you thought Prometheus had it bad?

I’m going to tell you the truth. Now.

I’m afraid for you. You see, the issue here is that you don’t appreciate your life. You don’t really understand how well you have it…”

And all of a sudden her voice was more than Wes could take. He woke up in a daze, half hung-over thinking about the impossibility of his infidelity once again. He was positive that there was no way he had slipped up again…

His wife began to stir…Could she know?

“The problem is you’re so ungrateful…What do you think orphans in Botswana think of your brand new Bentley? Your 401k? Your expense account? Are the left-overs from your room service in the hall of the penthouse in the Weston feeding those children?...”

Chalkboard…fingernails….the answering machine played on…

“For infidelity, take two parts willing participant, 5 parts vodka, 1 part uncertainty and mix…For a broken heart in a wonderful wife take…”

Coffee…Cigarettes…move faster…move sharper…

“Have you wondered what impact you’re really making on the people around you? Your wife? Your boss? Would you like to find out? Do you ever wonder what those small bug bites in the middle of the night that wake you up and make you realize you have to go to the restroom are? The swelling…it’s normal right? Could it be that you’ve put all of your spiritual eggs in the one wrong basket?”

Wes Strickland reached behind his ear…to his calf…these small little bumps beginning to swell. Mosquitoes, he reassured himself…It has to be. Those pricks in the middle of his daze…they had to be bug bites…

“Steroids can do funny things if injected into the right pressure point…Remember the cortisol? Remember the prayer line? 1-800Forgive? I’m not sure that God has a problem with you anymore…but I’m afraid I do…”

He wasn’t sure he had called a prayer line? 1-800for…

“For untimely death mix 1 part mistress, 1 part leaky faucet, 1 part loose shower line and mix…let sit for 3 minutes and cool to taste…”

And all of a sudden his night was crystal clear…and he remembered the footsteps…the chloroform…

“One last thing, Mr. Strickland and I will leave you to the misery of your fat deposits…your cortisol…your polycythemia…don’t take a shower…even the best soap won’t clean up the mess I’ve left you…It’d be in your best interest to run and to never look back. Leave your wife a note and tell her you’ve made your own life miserable…don’t involve her in this. It’s for the better…If you don’t, I can promise it will catch up with you, Wesssss…”

Elizabeth Strickland woke to the shower running, the vivid crash of a glass mug against the floor and the smell of smoke…and her husband nowhere to be found…One day she’d find out how the dead woman had wound up in her bathroom, but it wouldn’t be through Sylvia’s message on the answering machine.

Wes had taken care of that.

He left one tear stained note that simply said, “I’m sorry, it’s best if you forget about me.” with his wedding band lying inconspicuously on top.

It wasn’t until weeks later that they found his car…and his body with abnormal fat deposits like tumors growing from his calf and bulging from his deformed, waterlogged face at the bottom of Cross Lake.

It was said Sylvia had a thing for reading the obituaries and keeping the tally marks of her success. She would paper mache the results on her wall as trophies. For Sylvia Clawson this wasn’t just a pleasure, it was a profession.

Later, her landlord would say that he had made every effort to ensure that his building had the most paper thin walls in the city. He would say that insulation was a luxury. That there was a reason that the A/C vents were always positioned just above the telephone jack. He would say that every once and a while from her apartment you would hear one, two, three…rings and a cough. Then, “1-800Forgive prayer line. What are you struggling with, sweetheart? Tell me all about it and I’ll pray for you, honey.” And by that time it was already too late.

A Series of Four (Birth, Life, Love, Death)

4 things i wrote about Jesus.

birth(my how proud pythagoras would be)

opening night of this grand scene
and alas from the mouth where none have dared sing
we dare to voice this great and mighty chant of sorts

i find my glory in this lean-to
such an unholy structure
complete with ashen floors and straw scattered in ideal places
this place of shame is where i find my pride and my joy is defined

they will sing their songs and i will bide my time
it seems that's the only line of thought that keeps me from stepping out of line

"oh, a Saviour is born" and "glory to G-d!"

and myself in myopic pursuit, i wonder what is truly one night
spent cold
dark
alone
in this dread

i spread my cold hands out from a bowed head, across the window, this latchless, glassless, empty hole
it symbolizes You and i and everything that keeps us apart
it's deepest recess, my darkest soul
we're synonymous
oh, i could offer You this home, but it's as if i'm too good to let You in...
and i am...

would You listen to me? i'll bring these gifts, these fine thoughts, these fine gestures
and i'll catch You staring up from amongst the fog
both of us know this is so beyond me!
YOU are so beyond me!

and so i make my plea, take these gifts and just honor me
honor me for trying...

as if i could make Your love and life
some sort of game played with cards and dice
You gaze at me and i can tell, You see so much more than just Your own reflection in my eyes
You see me for what i am, an undeserving, unknowing wretch
but You're ok with that
and forgiveness pours from Your every smile, every laugh
i've never known such great love...
it defines, it controls, while all the while allowing me to run free into sunlit fields of freedom and liberation
and You're so small... yet surely You know...

"this must be the Christ" and "glory to G-d"
You're not the one in the cold tonight, my Saviour, i'm afraid i play that part.

life(a perfectly drawn line in the sand)

the sun and the stars intertwine to create a masterpiece of pure white on illuminated blue
You walk and even the flowers tend to follow your gentle scent
but it wasn’t always this way
and it won’t always be

lost in this crowd…

i am finding You new in silence…in the dreary times…
when the bell rings
but i’m still awake and i haven’t figured out quite why…

add 1 part unfaithfulness, 1 part uncertainty
and mix

this is a travesty…or that’s what they’ll say
and that You speak in revolution and revelation

but somehow You leave me dancing to rhyme and reason…

all the while i’ve considered finding a quiet place for myself
a solace…but You won’t let me…
and retreat seems so far away from who you are inviting me to become

You speak in siren songs
with great elegance and eloquence

and a hush falls over the crowd as act 2 begins
oh the elaborate disguises worn to tonight’s show
and Your gentle eyes seem to penetrate each directly to the marrow
yet You never condemn, never betray

just silently in a flourish of sorts, You whisk Yourself away
to a peaceful night under the stars

and even in tempests You sleep and the world feels calm
but the captains overboard and i can’t steer it on my own

i’ll gasp prayers about poor pitiful me and how incongruous my life seems to be
in the eyes of something so divine with the foresight to love me eternally

and i’ll scoff because i’ve continually created a lie
of this charade of a life filled with none but passersby…
brushing shoulders with noone and whats-his-face
not too alarmed…and so unconcerned

but even the least of these catches Your eye
and i can see that brushing shoulders is enough to speak volumes
of Your love and mercy and grace…so cliché…yet so sincerely candid

add 1 part empathy, 1 part emotion
and mix

there’s something just so tangible about this life
as if someone took the center of my heart
and placed it in the fire
and fanned so gently until it’s wrecked then refined

and in the midst revealing Your passion…seeing true life defined

love(do i? do i? do…i?)

so...they say that You can save...
so surely You can increase my faith
but if You can't that's ok anyway
an uncontrolable urge to quit seems so...

typical

somehow i’ve evolved past all need of this grace
i must find for myself restitution
i must pacify the savage
who has quenched the fire that blazed deep in my atriums and vena cavas
to circumvent the sin… hara kiri is how i function
the martyrdom of myself all over the kitchen floor

but don't mind me
i’ll just mop up what i can't manage to contain in my stomach
i’ll just throw away what i think i don't need
but i always needed

the greatest symphony…
oh, what a symphony…
forgotten by word of mouth
sifted through my hands like sand
this parchment used to soak up the blood that came flowing from my ego

enamoured like opening night
stendhal would never understand…

yet the utterance of YOUR name leaves me broken...
and open

a broken and open wound in the fresh wind
and my pittance...

simply acknowledging You...being alive!

because i am not!
i am not and i will not be! i refuse!
the lions and the mice and the whole spectrum in between
with the leaves and the trees they will join in one voice
to utter
the
unutterable

and somehow i'm still mumbling about my faults
pointed thoughts might have hammered You in
but i long ago swore i'd never go there again

yet...i take You there every single day
but i won't leave You there like those hypocrites

as the tears of the Father fall on the Son
in one half of a moment
i find myself and You

as one

broken and hurting

a broken and hurting
scapegoat

but that’s the reality of this love…

death(deflation and career changes)

then i found You alone with misery and pity for Your clothes
with promises of hope but You seem oh so detached
complete with matted hair stuck to Your face and slurred speech
giving widows away and thoughts of trust, dependability

they have eyes but they can not see
and i’m afraid i’m more like them than i’d admit to being

i’m fighting the sun

just how can i stand in front of unrequited love
when inside i know my iniquities…
forgiven, yet still all of me

i can hear Your voice…not mumbling but far under your breath
“I know You couldn’t take my cup, but My spirit, My Father, I lift it up”
and louder… and louder… and…

it still rings true when i remember Your voice

they have ears but they can not hear
and a game of dice is their currency
we’re not so far apart…

this love knows no name, no past, no shame
it grips and molds and rips and holds
and leaves me complete

breathing in gasps, in short moments
this pattern becomes a haven against such agony and despair
and in a desperate attempt to make all wrongs right,
to calm my storms that rage deep inside,
You speak Your last

thoughts concerning You and me and my burden i bear
but the words spoken are separate from the ones i expected to hear
from the deserved…we’re still worlds apart…

“forgive him” and “he doesn’t know”
and…You looked at me…

with a tremor You began to sink
and in a second i knew the hope of this sick life was redeemed
and this cycle was complete, birth, life, love, death…

the next years we would follow nature, embrace it’s scent, it’s touch…it’s love
and we loved
loved without pretense, without need
and You smiled…

this wasn’t life or death, but a glimpse at the world redeemed.