the mirror discovers new talents (an excerpt from "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons")

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...

*******

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)