Evan Hawthorn's Blog

Evan Hawthorn's Blog
(visual aid by Christian Schloe)

Monday, March 13, 2017

the denouement (the final stanzas of my novella-poem, "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons")

in the disgruntled wake of sidestepping mushrooms
not harming a twig or a tuft of grass
the cottage untucked in opaque prisms
its ponderous baggage of unassuming mass.
the cedars and willows that midwifed the housing
had scooped with their roots a well-watered place
so their prodigal cousin could swathe his wounds
in their weave of greeting and swaying embrace.

winding down flights and wafting rafted lovers
the flurry regifted its ambient glow
settling blush like a sigh on the hollow,
re-sowing roses in drifts of fragrant snow.
a bevy of rainbows sampled iridescence
on unforeseen hues in patches of sky
enticing dartings to shimmering pastures,
setting fleet jewels in the blink of an eye.

though the nannies fussed at the fledgling's landfall
and reignited love arrived on its knees
the deftly clambering acclimatizing vines
docked the outcrop with astonishing ease.
dangling their jangle of sapphire bells
sprinkling contentment on the petal-dusted breeze,
their curious twinings folded foundlings
in amity lapping from the resonant trees.

eschewing projections of paucity
slanting the presumption of a bipolar beast
the sun and the moon mingled perspectives,
like tolerant deities at an Asian feast.

owing perhaps to this lack of exclusion
streaming from celestials sharing a sky
Chester's appearance developed the features
the reason prefers to infer for the eye.
yet the chisel of his facets never stilled,
convening his visage in a restless dance
while trembling arcs spilling dark ruby embers
proceeded from his coruscating glance.

in lieu of his transitory twilights
clairvoyance floated in on the clear clouds of night,
a roving infection of strolling passersby
with incisive preternatural sight.
Pally and Nate set the mirror by his side
sparking a fusion of rainbow-fractured light.
hence the ripples in their dappled conversation
reflected depths from a dazzling height.

and the echoes of the children abided,
decanting in Pally an urge to rejoice;
regarding occurrence with a buoyant delight
from the margins of his generous voice.

on Mock's extensions reeling past the limbs
tugging the willow to compassion's new bower,
a riot of color had just broken out
from myriad buds coming into flower.
emerging from the spookhouse trailing his pollen
like a shuffling incarnation of spring
he seemed of a piece with the cosmic mushrooms
scooting about in their psychedelic ring.

tripping on the train of his traipsing garden
while stooping to pluck a most promising weed,
Rashful stuffed his pipe and wryly observed
"and to think this started when Sappy went to seed."
crouched nearby in the creeping juniper,
sniffing out the instincts of the spindly Dame
Sleazy cradled his delicate burden
on the fall-proof boughs of an ever-growing frame.

reacquainting their subtle discernment
with the tenanted vessels escorting their friend
Pasty's familiars discovered in silence
the caress of the trees in the sheltered bend.
and the brush of antlers and scenting of glands
infused devotion in the welcoming blend
that was braided in a sanctuary circle
and slung like a charm at their journey's end.

once everyone funneled through the gaping entry
past the lumbering bears pawing the floor
Sappy gawked at the dearth of fallen branches
and absence of lintels for framing a door.
Guanyin, in the midst of freeing a cicada
from grief-stricken drops of languishing sap
said "i wonder if it's worth more bother."
her eyebrows lifted as she ambled through the gap.

* * * * *

and the empath hadn't seen it coming
when Gropey laced his arm in the jingling vine.
but the nimble minstrel did without prompting,
clasping his too in that cleave of breathing twine.
the menagerie observed a solemn silence
yet the handfasting was wrought without words,
expressed in the rustling of sapphire bells
and proclaimed by the rhapsodizing birds.

as communal welling joined the avian throng
an ineffable miracle occurred.
for each of them voiced a unique calling
in the most complete sound that had ever been heard.
their croaks and howls and warbling trills
were requisite tones in a half-remembered chime,
strands in a fabric that hallowed the hollow
in space unplaced by the vagaries of time.

a bittersweet chill rifled through Pally
for Lumpy's faint touch possessed the hairs on his arm.
curled, crumpled hands and jagged valediction
raised in phantom welts like auguries of harm.
yet such was the stuff that fused their bonding
in the rational breach of dimensional shelves
where glimpses were burnished of what was within
on meeting the mirror and finding themselves.

"this luscious lass has something to tell you."
said Lumpy, overruling a lump in his throat.

Trixie mingled blush and blinked back a tear
while picking at frippery he'd sewn on his coat.
"your beau's right ripping.  and suited to you too,
seein' as you're both so bad at hidin' hearts.
the gang of pale stand-ins chompin' at the Gait
will never replace our dusky Queen o' Tarts.
in case i find i can't live without you
try and keep a candle lit on Aethelwort's Eve."

"we've plenty of room, Trix, and you're welcome as May.
are you ever so determined to leave?"

"the old man'll be terrible lonesome by now.
and what would 'e do without me advice?
you know how 'e frets, left on 'is ownsome.
'e wants for guidance on the crooked trail o' vice."

somewhere behind them a query was lofted.
"can you give her a lift?" inquired Guanyin.
spotting blithe nodding on a sea-green countenance
made Trixie almost jump out of his skin.

then Solomon's skull popped from its socket
and rolled along the ridges of an outstretched arm.
from there he considered the barmaid beauties,
widening his grin to waylay the alarm.
but Trixie wasn't wooed by his winsome smile
or skill skimming skulls on their wobbling tread;
failing to be gripped by clutching affection,
adeptly evading a pat on his head.
  
since Mary swooped in and scooped them both up
with flowing sleeves bowed like a sepulchral trowel
hopes for détente were fraught with conjecture,
eternally flapping in a midnight cowl.

"well, i must be off." she curtsied to the mage.
"take care of Mercy, my flighty, far-fetched gnomes.
your house is a peach.  such self-possessed delving.
unravels premises wherever it roams."
and though they'd had seats for her snappy entrance
when the banshee unfurled from sizzling crepe
as the atmosphere singed and cackles crackled
they nonetheless stared, with their mouths gone agape.

once Sylvana succumbed to Sable's sprucing
Mock tucked in his pleats, ramping close to Sludge White
quipping "what hath our ladyship to do with tears?"
but tenderness cracked and leaked through the bite.

falling in with his stems, she shuddered like their leaves,
clinging to the moss where bare shoulder poked.
"i just saw my mother."  the mirror went dim,
appalled by the anguish his talents provoked.
yet the agile quiver of Guanyin's fingers
awakened the harp strings of empathy's well,
resurrecting the scent of bygone protection;
encasing ache in perennial spell.

hedging the ancient, sympathetic magic
for channeling loss into reticent thaw
Chester's supple plying of ion desire
eked out the monkey's tranquilizing paw.
snug in the mingling Elsbeth settled softly
where Sylvana reattached to her post.
when Squint's cheeky tug at last tickled trickles
the shadow had passed from the hem of the ghost.

it was then that Pally rediscovered Gramps,
flickering persistence and translucent sheen
immersed in conversation with the otter
on a plump, plush toadstool of shimmering green.
in a heartbeat he was snapped up in tendrils,
surrounded by elation and awe-swept grace
while the empath glanced aslant at his familiar
and wonder made a beacon of his face.

the bard knelt by Squint.  "are you in on this?
those times you snuck off, were you teaching him to speak?"

his tail flapped with pride.  "that's only the half of it.
we alternate verse in primate and squeak."

as the roving deities pooled their velvet drapes
and sequins peeked through fading rainbow eaves
Gramps traced a pattern of infinite fondness
in the ceaseless murmur of his seedling's leaves.
"i've been pondering rhythms of reason,
the lure of legends, the sorrow sown in laughter.
for only mirrors composed in reflection
pose the terrain that ripples Ever After.

separation lies like the thief of time,
a buttress to balance the weight of tradition.
the space of emptiness cannot be filled
no matter how matter provides imposition.
the point of focus gives rise to the myth
that perception presides astride a position.
yet the prize that bides in compassion's sighs
by its nature cannot writhe in opposition."

the vine he was clasping curled around his wrist,
smitten with the branch that sprung its grafted friend.
"well, don't look so ruffled, me clever darlin'.
how else did you fancy our revels would end?"


* * * * *

and the wind was quite naturally taken,
clapping the curtains in a spirited guffaw.
stilling again, it asked for another.
and a quickening Mercy rushed into my paw.


* * * * *

- Evan Hawthorn, the 13th of March, 2017