Ever-present, he attached to my side.
He unknowingly bears Shadow’s yoke.
For him, it is not heavy.
Light. Free.
There’s no inner.
There’s no outer.
Only is.
There is no other person to be.
Other doesn’t register
Unless it’s a game.
“Old man, do you want to play?”
Sure.
The old man meets the child.
It stirs his soul.
Mud swells, murk made, bottom muck.
Can you see through mud made murk?
Pretend.
Gruff voice, baby voice, silly voice.
Voices like tools to a carpenter.
All in place, waiting to be used.
Years ago, the old man’s tools went missing.
“Check the bottom muck, old man.”
The unheard plea.
For years.
Forgotten.
Forsaken fate.
The boy knows.
The boy doesn’t have to look.
He’s never lost them.
It’s the old man’s tools misplaced.
Tsk. Tsk.
They’re around here somewhere.
Gimme a sec
Forgive me, my boy
I’m forgetful in my old age.
Tools lost.
Thought to be worn and useless.
Sent to the slag heap.
Dusty. Dirty. Discarded.
Years ago, tool less men told the old man to acquire new tools.
Don’t play with that tool, pick another one.
Pick one suitable for a man.
Suitable for an old man.
Ahh, the boy–the boy has them all.
Sharp, crisp, ever-ready.
He never loses his tools.
Maybe messy, but never forgotten.
—
Can you come with me upstairs?
Dark rooms, creaking treads
Shadow dances trick in the night
The invisible man might get me.
Alone.
Afraid.
“Nonsense” tsked the old man.
The invisible man didn’t get me, you see?
The invisible grasp. Knuckle white.
Clutched by the invisible man for years.
Awaken, just in time.
Wake up. Wake up.
Pry the fingers free.
Banish the invisible man from the home.
Get out!
Bottom muck transforms clear. Tools appear.
Fresh, sharp, renewed.
It is time to play.
Ahh, yes, I remember now.
