Friday, September 21, 2012

240-Million-Year Drama



Chiseled down the middle or sliced in two; geological diorama, half a globe; pocket-sized, palm-fitting: a very small stage.  Rough exterior but smooth where the curtains would be, only there are no curtains on this proscenium arch: the earth an open stage, her principle players: quartz and chalcedony; the latter, which comes from the Greek, means found only once, like the theory of true love I calcify into existence.


Chiseled down the middle or sliced in half; crystals like sugar granules sparkle around the edges and shine even deeper inside this cavity where two fingers fit.  Once the secret of a lonely volcano, exposed when hammer split limestone to reveal dances of light now ignited by a ravenous sun that has waited far too long for this moment: yes, that is me, center stage; and yes, that is you behind the scenes.


Like Lear I divide myself, granting the largest piece of my heart to the one who loves me best, while you decorate the exterior of a balcony scene, costume the minor players, adjust the special effects so I do not see you.   Like Hamlet I cannot act on what my ghosts have told me.  I shun the books where once I went for consolation but do not know where else to look.  I want to step down but my timing is horribly off.  Dark lady, come out from behind your stage directions, scrawled into a lost folio, and wait with me behind the discovery curtain, where we’ll eavesdrop on amethyst and jasper, agate and opal, as their 240-million-year drama unfolds.



                  "240-Million Year Drama" appears in the print journal Cactus Heart.