The Linnet's Wings :Take All My Loves, My Love - Page 57

The Linnet´s Wings One small beetle wore his half shell turned over and drifted I realized and found the brown rocks rose above the stumps of a forest of drowned trees. I rushed the shore. I couldn’t stop.  Waves pushed at my head. I left Bristol. I left the skin of streets. I left my older first wife wondering if she would jump up when she heard my steps up the path close to the smoke house where we cured the bacon her father fattened. Stones were thrown. The wake of the ripples caught my hands and I was frozen in the water .......... Follows missing pages to the tale kept by his descendant Simon Colman and published in London in 1767 _________________________________________ Narratives of New Netherland The Rage and Dreams of John Colman On 11 April 1611, the yacht Restless caught the flood and leaving Bristol moorage, my eyes fixed to the rolls and sway of the hot coals of the morning sky that wept black and gray as color stripped be- came the texture of a terrified dream recalled. I knew it my every day a breath diminished. Every night I stopped to dream the terror of my mother’s murder. I saw wide startled eyes descend from his killing hand to the lever axe and with one downward stroke my own fate as witness. My sister would almost drown in the blood as she nursed from tit and spit back red froth. Mother dragged to the ground by Murder who had gone mad became the template for the wooden ships I would fashion as I lived every day thereafter. I could never forget that deathly face. Mother and Murderer became the same scream. His mouth and eyes stretched from past to present. Terror would become the maps of my discovered 1and as I forgetting their coordinates became thoroughly trapped by that need to right the wrong that made lust mayhem an anthem for my child eyes and voice. Now, I am long past that day, a man with eager arms and back strong in the lifting of the sky and the mocking of God. I cry as in the murderers hall, as now, when I face my own last breathing, everything became black to mold with green and yellow peals as putrefaction crept through my throat to make my dreams scream again as they hit by that calamity become the foretaste of terror made and unmade as oath taken for revenge. Now, back on the docks as we uncoiled the last of the loops that kept us moored to this final place, I stepped up to the clouds and found myself by magic ten leagues above the deck of this ship. I could see myself from that deck as I floated both high into that heat and drawn down I fluttered into the limp, cold decay of my own grave. As I spoke softly to my feeling my bones stretched my legs to discover by their recoil the magic source that unmakes life as we curse dying we assume before our time. As I lifted up, my dreams froze as tar does oak. My body as circular cask unraveled into its steel rings and palsied steps. As I did every night I again live the theater of my mother’s murder. The troll used an axe. He cut her skull into twin parts and a smaller third while I gathered in her wake watched her fall as the blood ran down her arms. As she screamed quickly stilled, her blank face death before death caught the rings 57