The Dirty Queen of Leeches ( particulars for & dedicated to Lydia B. Scott)

Here is a preview for a tale I wrote with out so much as a twenty second break between chapters.

The Dirty Queen of Leeches

Her hair disheveled as she leaped from the porch slamming against a fence it opened at the pressure. Her arms in fit of anger flung the metal back closed you could here it click shut. Feet, the sound of her shoes long gone. It took no time but so much time as she approached the corner. She looked back not really expecting anyone to be behind her but you know the mind can come up with some other stories in collaboration with the mental sphere.

I would imagine four or five other plays happening at that time, but really only one. She didn’t expect anything to happen but could feel that emptiness that space that is a representation of anticipation.

At the phone booth her toes played with neglected pebbles, rocks, and soda cans her fingers boldly grabbing at a phone that smelled of piss. The connection not needed to be identified although it was. The dial tone. Where was her intuition. Where were you then?

I know!

Singing softy in the bowels of her stomach. Singing truly in the depths of her womb. Sending trembles up her intestines. Ringing, cooing in the stomach. A phone is now answered on the other end by a temple line near the horn, near the brain, in the head. A thousand and one miles from the safety nest manger of the heart.

Oh say what you must to me dear child. She has spoken already for the solitude. The autonomy of her own thoughts that said she dreams of being greater more fairer than before. Better greater more fairer prayers like elliptical magic. Freedom’s energy lifting her own virtuous richeous mother carrying her a feet, a few inches off the ground in a heap of bliss and ecstatic enthuse.

A child who would love to reach out

lick the subtle electricity like candy canes

gifted by submerged lovers in the breasts keeping

who wipes the backs of wailing children turned to light tears

falling swiftly from their cheeks

caught on the cleft of the chin

running then falling sunken sucked in by cotton t-shirts

knitted by grandmothers who wear blue fabric tissued pants

on their backsides

in a group of other knitters using the leg bones

of kitty cats who laid their life down here to go traveling there

ditching one planet for the other

following a map they noticed in the rivers intimate eyes

when they saw moles on their furry paws

thinking they were kin to cheetahs

when they saw arrows in their tales

thinking they were kin to zebras

when she saw needles pointing waiting calling sweetly

in rhyme for lightning

and waiting still longer for thunder’s roar

who baby

who will notice behind the clouds a mane of gold and pubescent lion cubs

who made that sound ecstatic

that they sounded like their mothers in honor of their fathers lingum

touching deeply where he can only touch

they have known a love that looks and races across Atabay

known scorpions jagged peircing

because it went by so noisily

sprites still with might like forevers

keeping that spirit’s image in the cube of ice

green was the color of the strings falling lucid out the phone

when she had dialed a code

for beams she knew would come too soon

will you rescue me and mother what of my father

But you are him too

Share with me that sacred side of you so that he may know I love you ever still

fix my hair in the best of perfumed oils that when I shake my mane

children in far Italy wipe the tears from their eyes

they hadn’t known a scent so strong

That when I shake my mane

running my fingers through my hair

touching a person

unsuspected,

walking by

they will know that that scent was worn my bathed priestesses

who could bring

gods through to earth

The Dirty Queen of Leeches -> Sabrina Davidson Copyright 2012

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