I am clearing out my room! It's awesome!
I got rid of my miniscule twin bed today- as in, the bed that I moved into when I moved out of a crib. The bed that, somehow, Jordan and I have been sleeping on since camp ended. An inexplicable feat of physics. Underneath said bed, I discovered the following:
- two pairs of underwear (bonus!)
- a spoon
- missing slipper
- missing earrings, assorted
- spider corpses, assorted
- eight skrillion push pins
- a rosewood bead string with a bodhisattva on the end of it
- couch pillow that had been missing since approx. 1997
- one of those little duck-call-looking noisemakers that goes "whhhhHHHEEEEE!" when you blow into it
(The first must have been written after I finished The Once and Future King.)
Once upon a time, there was a daughter born to painted warriors. Wild and willful, the great misty plains to the north were theirs. Theirs were the stones and the iron skies, and the earth, rich with peat and heavy with miss. Theirs were the crags against which the sea threw itself. And theirs were the robed druids, ragged and full of stories.
This daughter, child of proud, hot-tempered kings, was brought to lands south. Brittony, they told her, and here lies your way and your marriage bed. Proud lady, how fearful and bitter a thing to have been cast from the lands of her fathers.
But to wed... to wed... such a man. Your kind, they told her, and your husband. Pendragon, they whispered, and told tales of a stone and anvil. And seeing him, a king for legends, full in beard and ambition, his eyes crowded with dreams, and under his tongue the greatest dream of all. Camelot, he told her, and she loved him for it.
Together, they threw color upon the stones and together they built a world ripe for battle, bursting with quests, and hungry for great, great love.
He came from the Lake, it was said.
Born of the same dagger-bright waters that brought forth Excalibur. And, seeing him- this knight without kin or match- there was none could deny that he was as sharp and shining as any blade that has held fealty at the hip of greatness. He took his seat at the table, took the anicent oaths and bound him blood and bone to serve his Lord. But his eyes never left the Lady. And, transfixed, she held his gaze, steadily, like a knife in the dark.
The king was pleased. Camelot, he said, eyes bright. But she did not hear him for the thunder of her heartbeat.
In years afterwards, the wheaten-haired lady came to be able to close her eyes without finding the face of her kind behind the lids. Came to wash away the broken, howling look he gave her as she turned her back on him, and leaning her cheek against shining armor, was borne away to spin new stories. Came to forget the heartbreak that took her by the throat and- just for an instant- said to her, stay. He needs you. In years afterwards, the child of emerald moors and rolling mists came to forget the songs of Camelot.
Daughter she had been, and wife, and queen. And now, having tasted choice and lain with regret, she was woman.
(And the second, having revisited the Dane.)
Hamlet, to Ophelia, 11/07
get out and GO now
I cry to you, cracking
like lightning, like lightning, and coming like rain
I poison you, poison you, as I embrace you
and loving you, taking you, wakes only pain
now learning you, leaving you, casting you to the sea
e'en as you reach for me, reach for me still
steel yourself now, my love, show what is brave in you!
see how I'm saving you, e'en as I kill.
So fly from me, fly from me, weeping and breaking
and seek out that peace found 'tween blessings and stone.
Now get out and GO, for how swiftly you've died to me.
Free now, and broken now, sail yourself home.
Cannot wait until all the crap is out of here, and I can paint. Unfortunately, that will have to wait until winter, because we leave for SB tomorrow.
I love you all, truly.