Two shadows, from the start & the end of things:
this infant in the dark of his crib;
this bat-cloaked crone—godmother
or witch?—who coos & who caws
at him. As blessing, one hopes? Well, perhaps as curse.
But to cue what tale? That will script-wreck how, to crib
from where what way, till he’ll which-end-up as who? Cursing
or blessing why this thing, of our spinning world of things?
One sleep-forsaken night, by candlelight, he'll run a bath, to pause
the wheel of it. To soak, & breathe.
He's almost grown now, of an age when cause
is apt to separate from effect—when who we are today's
a wild surprise—& some days he'll grasp at anythings—
to find some tether. Till the steam-whisper of her curse
(or her blessing?), slumbering in him since he was in his crib,
will wisp up from the swirl, & fasten in him.
So within weeks, or an hour, here he'll be, in a land beyond laws—
under a blood red sky—tossing the dice, with archangels & monsters—
to die, or to cry it into life. For a story; for the cause.
Derek Kannemeyer's works since 2018 include two poetry collections (Mutt Spirituals and You Go In By The Gate That Isn't There) a light verse/animal factoid ("A Betabestiary'), a novel (The Memory Addicts) a play (The Play of Gilgamesh), and a non-fiction/photography hybrid (Unsay Their Names) which was listed as one of Kirkus Review's 100 Best Indie Books of 2022.