The Cliffhanger

We cut our teeth on the sparring wit of our banter, the questions you dared my silence to answer, the answers I read on the furrowed lines of your unfolding stature.

You asked me, “what do you base the premise of your life on”?

My silence thought to itself, I do not need to reply, but my silence was a neonate and it had not, as of yet, learned to keep its tongue in cheek.

“There’s so much to do be done, love, on the wiles of a day, a day that recites the pattern of the bleakness that waterlines the horizon, a storm is coming in, and you ask questions?”, I said beneath my breath.

“Answer the question, what is the first thought that comes to mind?”, he laughed, ignoring my ominous reply.

“There isn’t such a thing as first thoughts, there’s always something before the perception of a thought, an unborn idea — a storm’s coming in.”

“Why do you avoid answering a simple question?”

“And why are you trying to take up residence in my head? Stop asking questions.”

“Come on spill it out.”

“I live to do no harm — the storm is here.”

You were perched on the higher ridge of the cliffs I dangled my thoughts off, the bruised clouds haloed in flaxen your backdrop, blinding — you pondered my reply.

You smiled, your eyes crinkled on the fringes of a broken laugh, as if you held the knowledge of a greater god in your hands, not realizing my lesser god had loaned yours its voice.

I smiled back, staring behind him, “it’s here”, I said pointing to the distance over his tensing shoulder.

The smile stilled on his lips, “what — ?”

We were caught in the storm.

I pat away the two mitotic spindles of perspiration, that run their course between my heaving bosom. The climb is arduous.

I fancy the horizontal waterline shimmering in the distance, as the rays of sun burst upon it in an attempt at surprise. It seems as though it is the sun that gasps, surprised at the beauty it looks down upon. Does it see the beauty the same way each day? Does it see what I see?

As I stand precariously on the cliff’s of the Xai, where we began — and others took their end into their own hands, it was from here Eugenia threw herself off the ledge her body washing up on the shores of Alexandria, all the way in Aegyptus, far from home. She was just a girl not much younger than myself. My god what was she thinking — it saddens me she was alone.

It would be so simple, love, to release my breath off the cliff’s edge — but would the sea below, feel my pain — when I break its surface can it contain the vastness of my calibrated distress. I’m afraid I’d swallow up the sea.

If I released my breath would yours rise up to aid my flight? I know you would, love, but I’d never put you in such a position.

What is this tragic astral portent that has stalked my childhood’s patter of feet — into the realms of the dreams of a girl?

Who have I wronged ?— that I may anoint their feet,

Who have I harmed?— that I may take up the hajj and stone the devil’s eye.

Everything is so simple, yet not as simple as it seems.

If you could ask me that same question today, my answer would not have changed.

“I, live to do no harm, but any tear shed, that brings me here to the precipice, is not worth ignoring… there’s a storm on the horizon, and I’ll be caught in its eye, this time alone.

The day recites a rendition, patterns of inheritance, attraction, mutual respect.

But, love…

I’m made of sturdy stock, born on pleated waves, the foam of the Aegean.

And all the Seven Sea’s combined can not contain the paroxysm of my devotion found in the one seedling of my tears — I do not want you to worry — I have arrived.

Copyright ©. R Tsambounieri Talarantas. 2020. All Rights Reserved.