She declares, “There are tigers in the Baja, there are dragons in the Hills.”
I put the water on to boil.
She continues, “There is no time for love nowadays; there’s only time for thrills.”
She rummages through the cabinets in quest of some device, some implement she can use to affirm her declaration, though in truth I was at a loss to define exactly what her point is. I lift the instruments of proper tea making and approach the pot that is not boiling.
As she plunders and pilfers my private places, I pause and watch the way she moves. I love, have always loved, her capacity making the most rudimentary motions look like poetry. I wonder through the shiny forest of stainless steel utensils she is assembling on the breakfast bar.
Over a breakfast, long ago, she asked what I wanted. I reflect on how I told her of my writing aspirations. At the time I took it as a request to know what I wanted to write. Now I wonder.
I want to write of the way love is a zero sum game. How people I’ve loved have always hurt me horribly, yet time and again I have always offered my hand, like a child offering flowers.
I want to offer my words to the wind. Want to touch perfection within this dirty gritty Reality, where pure things like numbers dance in chaos.
She says, “There are tigers in the Baja, there are dragons in the Hills.”
I put the fragile tea leaves in the boil.
She continues, “There is no time for love nowadays; there’s only time for thrills.”

We met beneath a moonlit sky, a sky ariotous with tiny diamond flecks strewn on black velvet. She taught my aging heart new dances, new ways to break.
She recited the William Butler Yeats’ poem; ‘THE SECOND COMING’
“Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.”
And yet when I held her in my arms there was a center to this circle. And when my thoughts swirled like ten thousand hematite flecks there was always a center to the vortex. She was the magnet my thoughts would orbit, she was my center.
I told her “The world is falling down, but it’s been falling down for 5 billion years
And, face it; life is the water that runs uphill . . . when I hold you I am testament to the way that life arises from the ashes, and while I never understand why you can do this to me, I hold to this faith in love.”

The sound of her voice wrapped around my name. I held her hand and tried not crying. I hate the smell of hospitals but I needed to be there, beside her as she talked to the nice young doctor. I needed to believe in the technology, needed to pray for a portion of luck from the gods of chance. We met beneath a moonlit sky, she taught my old soul to dance.

She says, “Your kitchen is Chaos, how do you ever find anything?”
The marvelous spirit of the Tea permeates the room, touching everything. Earl Grey. I tried to reach across the counter just as she turns away. I pretend that I am actually looking for the Lorna Doones, which I find.
I remember watching a crimson setting sun reflecting in her eyes as it plunged in luminous fiery robes into a grey slade sea. Watching her hide her pain after she was injured in the battle of indoor soccer. Watching her explode with glee as we conquered the high ranges.
I have walked the Far Places with her only to lose her every time. I have flown the Spine of the Night with her, only to find myself alone in the dawn. I have been and done many things, but I have always loved her, always.

There will be no resurrection, despite all the technology. She is broken on the barriers of chance and all that I can do is make tea and arrange shortbread cookies on a stupid plate.
She says, “There are tigers in the Baja, there are dragons in the Hills.”
I hand her the plate . . .hand her the teacup.
She continues, “There is no time for love nowadays; there’s only time for thrills.”

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

5 thoughts on “Circles”

  1. Really enjoyed this. It had a timeless, fatalistic, tragic feel to it, studded with lots of tasty bitesize images. I particularly loved the idea of life flowing up a world that’s falling down – it was like the key to the narrator’s resilience and naivety. Amazing.

    Liked by 1 person

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