LEMONS & SALT
January 23, 2008
© Fred Dumpling. Redistribution is prohibited.
He sits on the beach,
the white sand stretching beneath him
like the palm of a great hand.
This is his kingdom.
He flips the pages of his book,
skimming over words he's memorized a thousand times,
telling of a mountain where he used to laugh and dance
when his hair was longer and more beautiful.
This is his prison.
***
They sit together on the mountain,
black and blue, like a bruise on the snow,
but the one is an angel, newly presented with his halo,
leaving black behind.
They were always together, black and blue.
Now one remains rooted as the other ascends
and takes what is loved by the black.
***
She is betrothed.
Black stands with her under his favorite lemon tree.
She does not know to whom, but black is restless.
She will know soon, she assures him, and she will explain
that she and black are one,
have always been one,
will always be one,
no matter what the day may bring.
***
But the day brings blue.
Black is relieved as the sun rises
but is crushed as the sun rests higher in the sky.
No — the angel has always wanted her,
has always desired, like a mortal.
He'll be selfish just this once.
The shadows of the lemon tree shake their leafy heads,
and black runs.
***
Down the side of the mountain.
Down, down, running,
stones crumbling under the coarseness of his feet,
toughened from years of toil,
carrying bodies through darkening days.
He is death's boy, and he tumbles—
They meet with a collision on the beach.
***
Death meets light with the sand on his skin and the salt in his hair.
Apologies are awkward. Introductions carry
a strange wistfulness.
The bringer of light knows that death comes from the mountain.
Light, himself, is too rough, too unrefined, too harsh a shade of red.
He lived on the mountain once.
They were both something once.
They were both loved and both betrayed.
Exile, the light explains. But
he has made his prison of sand and sea his own,
and death is welcome to stay.
***
They know each other more than anyone has known them,
and by morning, they have felt each other, as well.
Death has tasted the salt in the light's red hair,
kissed the sand on the light's sun-blemished skin.
The light, in turn, has touched the silk of death's nakedness
and breathed the cold dusk from death's lips.
They lie under the gray of morning
in light's kingdom and his prison.
***
Wrong. All wrong.
Sand and salt and sea turn to dust in death's mouth,
and he washes it out on the beach,
only to receive more of its flavor.
He flees toward heaven,
leaving light to remember his betrayal.
Light prays, but who hears the prayers of Satan?
***
He does the right thing. He makes confession,
and punishment comes swiftly
and painfully,
raging powerfully in his cheek where his father struck him.
He has committed a great dishonor.
Yet, his honor can still be salvaged.
The mighty Zeus takes lightning in hand and strides
powerfully.
Death is his weak boy, his misguided boy, his poor, inferior boy.
A realization. No. No, no, no.
Death stands: No!
***
He's run this path before,
down, down, down into hell,
this time with the knowledge of where he's going.
He does not tumble or misstep (past the blue),
but the angels,
the ascended hold him back with their wings spread
protectively, so all he can do is watch
as thunder claps in the clear sky,
and down on the white sand of the beach,
light's blood is spilled in a wide, bright splatter,
like a mockery of Valentine's Day.
***
He screams,
and he screams as the mighty Zeus looks his way.
Father! Father! But the light does not fight,
one trembling arm keeping his body from the sand
as the other keeps his organs inside.
Father! The angels tighten their grips. He is trapped,
watching the scene on the white, white—
Thunder claps again,
and the light is snuffed out.
The world remains bright and lit to all but death,
who is suddenly blind and lame
and crumbles.
***
The angels return to heaven as death makes his way to the shore.
His lover lies face down in the sand.
Death turns him over. His face is sandy, sandy. His blood is sandy, sandy.
Blue, blue follows apologetically. He tries to speak
but is immediately silenced with a barbed word from death.
Death carries his lover to heaven,
and the blue trails mutely
until they reach death's workplace, and blue is told to leave.
He does so without audible complaint.
***
He washes his lover, gently,
of the salt in his hair and the sand in his skin
until he is a corpse, clean and cold as dusk,
and gray with the light of morning.
He has prepared many in this way,
but only his lover is baptized with tears
before the oil for the burning.
***
The fire burns with the scent of lemons and salt.
***
Death follows only days later,
out of grief, they suppose. Though they never understood
the love between two so similar as themselves.
Blue attends the burning, as does she,
but neither together.
She opts to weep alone because
she and black were one,
had always been and would always be,
no matter what the day had brought.
She and blue separate before a moon has passed.
***
The mighty Zeus struggles to keep the clouds in the sky in the absence of his sun.
Blue struggles to spread his wings, as heavy as his heart's burden.
She alone kisses the bark of the lemon tree and wraps her arms about its girth.
The beach is vacant. Its sands are pink,
and they burn with the scent of lemons and salt.