in this excerpt from my novella-poem "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons",
the magical mirror and Pally, the transvestite barmaid, are rescued from the alternate
dimension, thanks to the efforts of Guanyin, the blind wise woman (named for the
Chinese Goddess of Mercy), Mary the out-of-work Banshee, and the ever-handy
Gropey. two other Curmudgeons are mentioned: Mock, who learns of his grandfather's
passing, and Weepy, the empathic twin from Honduras. later, in the solicitous care
of Guanyin and her simian apprentice, the mirror acquires new talents...
Chinese Goddess of Mercy), Mary the out-of-work Banshee, and the ever-handy
Gropey. two other Curmudgeons are mentioned: Mock, who learns of his grandfather's
passing, and Weepy, the empathic twin from Honduras. later, in the solicitous care
of Guanyin and her simian apprentice, the mirror acquires new talents...
*******
Gropey was already back at
the portal
his wobbling legs
protruding from the frame,
the rest of him covered in
hovering absence
restively yearning for
more of the same.
as Mortimer and Nate latched
onto his feet
to anchor the
transcendental tug of war,
Guanyin adjusted her
receptive head
startled by a presence beyond
the trembling door.
but Pally was already upon
them
reflecting the candles
with the flames in his eyes,
blushing at Nate from the
folds of his cape
as the circle erupted in
jubilant cries.
pivoting about he pitched
in with Gropey
angling for an object
still hidden from sight.
and together they managed
the arduous task
of lifting the mirror into
the light.
with the minstrel and
carpenter's bolstering heft
they placed him on a plinth of antique brass,
where he swivelled for a
moment, seeking balance,
till a lilac sigh pervaded
the glass.
polishing a smudge with
the fringe of his cape,
Pally said "you're
safe 'ere, me redemptive friend."
he ran his fingers along a
deep scar.
"mayhaps away from
'er you'll 'ave a chance to mend."
and seeming to confirm the
time-honoured adage
the demon bespoken
forthwith appeared.
for the queen herself loomed
out of the portal,
pinpointed the mirror, and
lividly leered.
reacting to the banshee's unnerving shriek
Anastasia flinched, thrown off her steely guard.
then thoroughly scanning
all of their faces
her eyes flung darts at
Sylvana and the bard.
arrows of flame sparked from Guanyin's tapir
engulfing the frame in a detonating flash
that rent the room with ricocheting
thunder
and crushed liquid light
into sifting green ash.
in the silence that
followed Solomon whimpered
for he'd nearly been frightened
back from death.
yet no trace remained of
the uninvited
and everyone slowly
recovered their breath.
Pally and Nate were
plucked from their rapture
by the prickling sensation
of Mock's pressing eyes,
staying their swaying when
he asked "where's Gramps?"
in a panicked, fragile
voice he couldn't disguise.
Nate responded to tensing trepidation
enfolding Mock in the solace
of their arms,
while Pally laid bare the soul-rending rupture,
coating its harshness with tenderhearted charms.
silently Weepy came up behind
them
cannily attuned to the
tides affecting Mock,
that scrappy delinquent who'd
scraped up supper
for migrants starving on
an indifferent dock.
the self-starting candles
darkened the room
and then one at a time lit
up in succession,
bequeathing a sacred
travelling flame
to wreathe the bereaved in
a haloed procession.
later that night in the
slumbering forest
Guanyin drew down dust
from the wandering stars;
restoring the mirror's mercurial
surface,
healing his prisms and sealing
his scars.
her simian apprentice
crouched by her side
steeping a chalice in the
moon's reflection,
its kindred essence rippling and gleaming
exhaling the mists of its primal protection.
and the potion bestowed
lucidity
ladling luster where
the elixir trickled,
a lunar aurora shimmering
in streaks
while quivering squeaks
suggested it tickled.
but the stellar windfall
was the parsing of paths,
the gift for projecting a
journey's end,;
a timeless aligning of
parting particles
in patterns plotted from
whence they might wend.
and the novice barely smudged
the surface
in tilting it back to its
upright position.
yet a tropical vista
swiftly unfurled
for touch was the key to
start the ignition.
and the misty-eyed monkey cooed
with longing
as mislaid memories
stumbled into view.
then the prospect frosted
with twinkling beacons
skimming icy depths of lonely,
midnight blue.
*******
(thus endeth the excerpt - Evan Hawthorn, the 30th of August, 2015)
