The Linnet's Wings Summer 2014 - Page 67

Like time-lapse photography, jerky strobe. Tail slipping over, body cramped up, caught on the bark of a Sabel palm. Couldn’t turn our eyes away, though sure the thing was dead. Suddenly, with a jerk of the head, translucent skin in its hungry jaws. Shortly, one white scrap left hanging. Shortly, the dewlap, red and glowing, vibrant in the noonday sun. Why not like that, my sister said. Death and resurrection. Why not like that, I thought. But no. Charred ruins like bones of a great cathedral, arches like hands in smoldering prayer. Buildings falling over and over, endless recurring infinity loop. Paper money, incense, guilt. Ashes, ashes. We all fall down.