Yearning for Wings

The land is magical in my new hometown.

Diary Entry Mar. 6^th

I found you.

At first out of desperation, I found myself running through the empty streets under a bruised night sky, my bare feet pat-padding along the pavement, my loose negligee wrapping me in the wind. I held one hand in my mouth to keep the ache from coming out.

Your voice was on my ears.

At first I thought the Kyrie Elaison, your whispering serenade, was the wing breath of moths, beating frantically against the sodium lights.

Three a.m. night after night, my dreams took me further into the city. I tripped down the paint-crusted and peeling iron fire escape, past the dumpsters reeking of rot and the honey-pulp of open Stargazer lilies. Then down over the railway overpass. Clinging to the wrought iron railing, I crossed the river on the old stone bridge. Fish reek stained the night. I passed the Roman aqueduct, feet bleeding into asphalt, through weed-choked fields, burrs biting into my ankles, mosquitoes suckling wherever they chose.

I know. I know there are no ruins in our town. No railroad. No bridge. Only wheatfields and sunflowers in the ditches. But I like my fantasy, you see. We all do.

So I ran as if pursued by demons, but none would pay me any notice, for I had love on my mind, passion like grape juice-stained lips and a humid heat drenching me.

No matter how far I ran, I never went far enough, never actually reached your lips, but only felt those wing beats pulling me in, accepting me.

Diary Entry Mar 27th

Days found me drinking more caffeine. Jumpy at work, I'd answer the telephone on first ring because the noise broke my head. I heard footsteps approaching with no one around. In my apartment, I couldn't sit still unless every light in the house were on. I could feel you watching me and I yearned to meet your eyes. Would they be blue and cold as glaciers? Oh, no, impossible, I'd think. Would they be green and laughing? Silly me. Only black coal eyes, lit by a private passion would do. Maybe even violet eyes, fringed with black silken lashes. Your hair would be dark, curly, shoulder length and full. And those wings.

Had I turned fey?

The doctor prescribed exercise. A good dose of endorphins would pick up my mood, keep me trim, and burn the extra energy. I never told him about my nights. Nor did I let him see the raw places on my feet.

My elder sister claimed it was menopause, my younger one, loneliness. I never knew if I sleep-walked or ran conscious.

My girl friends wanted to know my diet as I lost ten, then twenty pounds. I asked help for insomnia and they recommended sex, benadryl, sesame seeds, milk, and yoga. None made any difference. Of course, I hadn't confessed I was yours during the night.

Diary Entry April 13th

One night, a strange rustling noise among the boxes set out for waste recycling turned me from my usual path. It may have been rats, or raccoons, but whichever, I definitely saw shiny beady eyes tracking me.

I stopped cold, a chill running the length of my back. I wanted to go forward. But those vermin ... I rocked in place, slowly turning.

A hint of salt tang in the air reminded me of the beach. It had been years since I'd visited with my mother.

Cocking my head, I realized that if I headed south, the pavement would end at the sandy shore of the inner passage. Then a clawed paw shot out from behind the boxes and a large shape dashed straight toward me. Deciding to change directions, I ran.

It was but five minutes out before I realized your voice had changed.

No longer whispering, your song, your pleading sounded high and pure like the call of a baby eagle for his mother to feed him. It sounded so good.

I ran then, toward this louder voice of yours, ran with a new-found freedom. Life would turn better. You approved. I'd find your eyes this time and we'd be together.

That night I arrived at the beach as a storm front moved in. Offshore lightning shattered the cloud-laden black over the sea. The waves churned and overhead, gleaming white gulls wheeled and dove. Closer and closer it came and when the sheets of rain reached me, I had come to the cover provided by an old dock.

I know. No sea in North Dakota. Only rivers, only lakes. Only biting flies to keep you away.

Inside of me, freedom sang a glorious song. I'd escaped my town. I was away. Blood churning through every limb, I grabbed onto the oak-tarred pillars supporting the walkway. Down and around I swung as my daddy had swung me when I was a child. Even your voice was silenced in the onslaught. I laughed with pure joy.

As I snooped and poked beneath the pier, I found mussels, which I opened and slurped down raw, feeling something quench inside me. I licked strands of seaweed, chewing their fibrous length like licorice. I dug for clams and ate them raw, too. I cavorted for hours, oblivious to the storm and my own condition. Then I curled around one pillar and fell asleep. Deep dreamless sleep with the pounding of surf as meter for my heartbeat.

Diary Entry April 16th

I woke when they were loading me into the ambulance. I spent a week in the hospital on an IV, with every bit of my skin wrapped in gauze. I hadn't noticed the barnacles as they cut and scraped my skin. When I arrived at the hospital, I had been suffering from hypothermia and the doctor claimed malnutrition, but I never bought into that idea. And I only got really upset when they accused me of alcoholism for the tenth hundredth time. Forget it. I don't drink. Can't stand the stuff. Nevertheless, they placed me in the mental ward. Seems everyone believed I tried to kill myself. But after a week of taking a battery of tests, it seems I'm quite normal.

Of course, I never told them about you.

The scabs were a hassle. Dressing for work became an ordeal. Seeing my beat up face was worse.

You begged and begged me to come back to you.

Diary Entry April 27th

The day the doctors released me from the hospital I counted the hours until midnight. Midnight when I would find you.

Midnight tasted like a fine wine, especially when mixed with the scent of creosote and the sensation of sand running between my toes. I reached the pier just as a cloud covered the nearly full moon.

I picked my way beneath, deeper and deeper toward the sea and found what I'd missed before.

Beside the pillar closest to the high tide mark, a cave lit by an inner fire sank down and around and out toward somewhere below sea level.

Your voice was like an angelic choir.

My heart filled and filled more with love like a balloon, my breathing shallow and nearly choked out, my mouth hanging open like a dog. My heartbeat flitted and danced like flame.

I sat down on the edge of the cave entrance and lowered each foot.

We touched.

Can I tell you how electric it felt? One buzzing jolt straight up my spine, flipped my head back. I grew able to endure it. I climbed down.

Do you know how honey sticks and clings? That's how every wall of the cave felt. That's how sweet it smelled.

I went forward. I knew you were there, just beyond.

The shaft turned to the left. I couldn't see around it.

White feathers stuck to the edge.

I knew you were beyond, shy before my eyes. I undressed. Went to you naked, ready to give everything to you.

The light disappeared.

I swallowed. Your touch was back.

I felt myself slip, down, down, toward your home. Your song had stopped. You whispered the words of our path and I knew you. I reached my hand so I'd feel your soft down.

Here, you said. Past the the Girdle of Venus.

You nibbled. I shook from head to toe. My hand touched a bulge of warmth, yes, a round hand hold to steady myself.

The ring of Solomon.

I stepped through a narrowing area, bending low. You led me on.

The mounts of Jupiter, of Saturn, of Mars. Of Mercury and the sun.

My eyes nearly snowed out, so blinding the light that surrounded me. Had we taken flight? Were we off to heaven?

I guess I slumped into your arms because I woke to dark and the sense of being cradled. You continued your litany.

Hallux.

Do you know the tenderness of your own foot. My reaction set up waves running the length of your hold on me. Swinging and swaying as if enscounced in a hammock. Or web, my brain said. But also fanned, cooling air stroking every ounce of my skin. Perhaps I'm held in your wings.

Heat near my face. Like a breath.

Helix. Antihelix. Tragus.

Oh, Lord, could I take any more?

I realized you had nine voices. All calling out place names. And nine arms. Suckling.

One voice called Middle Meatus kissing my eyelid. Another Masseteer caressing my cheek.

Oh, angel, love me, I yelled silently, unable to speak.

You chanted. Lunule. Phalanx. Atlas. Uvula. Popliteal Fossa. Cubital Fossa.

That's when I said wait. No. Stop. Please.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. I felt used. Cheated.

A hum filled the air. You stopped. Oh, sweet, you stopped for me.

Hmmm, you said.

I need ... please, I've had such faith. I love you. But please, please, can't I finally see you? I need to see your eyes, your hair. Your wings. God, how I need to hear the brushing of your wings together. Will you sing for me?

The honey light and warmth returned. Every bit of me burning with heat. My skin salty and sticky. But I saw your purple black eyes, eyes, eyes filled with desire. All nine pair.

And I saw those silken shiny wings, creamy and pure, sweeping up and around me.

And your beautiful metallic golden skin, almost humanoid. Certainly dragon nostrils and your tongues.

I swallowed. Thank you. I love you.

You sang then, sang out every bit of fantasy from me. Sang it like liquid slurped through a straw. I felt myself running and pooling, turning liquid.

And when I saw that what I felt was true, that was when I knew.

You had found me first.