Young Writers Society

Frilly white hems brushed my side,
Her mother’s call was stiff and stern
She hurried away, dazzled in mid-morning light
It had played with the upturned corners of her eyes,
Sliding off her eyelashes and sparkling down her cheeks
I was happy to meet a new acquaintance, I thought nothing more.
Her hands moved quick and expressive, but she’d quickly realized
And puppeteered them with the controlled grace of a patriarchal swan.
Her mother, briefly out the window pane gave me that look,
Pupils seething with coals ready to burst with flames,
Her eyes as gritty and plain as dirt, and I remarked in thought--
Hm. Perhaps she has buried earthworms in those eyes.

Then I went along, back to my master’s blooming infirmary garden.
Once he cloaked the door with vines and clusters of fat wine grapes,
But then came the town clerk who’d taken them by the basket,
The hog of a man had barely paid a penny, and as he left he called,
“Keep it tidy ‘round these parts. Don’t let those plants grow amok.
Good to keep appearances up on these busy streets.”
Master’s slight smile and quiet utterances had me mistaken,
I had thought of him as a gentle apothecary, a pushover even;
Only a hermit that’s been too locked up for too long with no wife or kids.

Yet, in the soil of his brown eyes faintly gleamed buried gems and precious rocks,
Too dangerous to unearth around greedy men who’d pluck them right out his skull.
No, he was a man of flexible steel, a young tree with century old roots.
He had kept me busy from afternoon to evening, and my thoughts wander,
Floating to the puffy clouds above, drifting from the dirt caked under my nails.
I was lucky enough to be able to wash away Nature’s stains in the creek,
But master would never be able to erase the wrinkles of age and scars on his face,
No, the hopes of sweeping off the sign pointing to his lonely street had long gone.

Coins of winking light drifted down the waters, but even I wouldn’t grasp for them.
Their light only reminded me of her; her lips upturned at the mention of master’s garden,
The smile she’d quickly forced away, but I saw no distaste concealed in her eyes
Her hair was wrapped tightly in a bun, yet a curled piece began to slip loose.
Socially acceptable, ‘kept’ appearances, politeness, I think she’s good at the game.

And when she returned in that white, lace dress down to her ankles
The garden snapped twigs sharply across her feet, it stained the perfect cloth
Its humidity frizzed her hair, but even then she was too absorbed to care.
I kept my voice low and upbeat, to make up for my peasant clothes, my scruffy hair.
Curfew kept her away from me most days, and I didn’t mind then
Because I knew eventually she’d come again with that taut smile,
The smile which sprouted stems budding with vivacious petals in the garden.

As master had taught me, I taught her each use, every color, every name
And soon we began to speak in the language of flowers,
From my rough hands I supplied her ripped yellow marqueriles,
Sometimes I’d scatter their breathless, warm petals outside her window
And others I’d find the windswept shreds of yellow caught on tangles of vine.
She lay wild roses over the fence of the clothe maker's shoppe,
I remember I held them cradled like a dead bird, I understood pain
But my heart ached the same, yet different, did I feel what she felt?
The yellow pansies I stowed away carried pieces of her smile,
The red pansies I left to bleed out on the rain-slickened street,
I left it to get its life crushed by the hooves of a noble’s stallion,
I thought its destruction would starve my growing dread.

You see, master had those eyes that drove a spear through my thickening cloud.
The sun had turned its back, its rays faded in grey skies
As it had to me, I faced away, harboring secret wishes to feel its glowing light.
The evening morphed into a drab, metallic night.
Its wings spread so far and wide that it encroached on any hint of summer season.
I slept lightly, and woke often. I turned and twisted, but I did not sweat
The early morning was shy, I ignored it and buried my hands in the Earth.
If I shoveled until the end of my days, I would never reach its molten core
I wanted to tell it I wish I could feel its burning passion, that I wish it didn’t hide
See, I don’t mind if you pluck every feather off me, I don’t care if you leave me bare.

My vision blurred at the bouquet of red tulips thrown at the door
I couldn't bring myself to squeeze the juices out of its vivid green stems.
Master had known then, and he hid the broil of pity and empathy
Then I understood. The tides of time, sweeping away youth,
grating away the pristine innocence of beige sands,
grinding bones to make carved seashells, and snatching them all away
Back to the eternal ocean, where as generously as it gave it quickly stole.

The seething look her mother casted was burnt into my mind,
As if the sight of a peasant by her daughter made her utter spells.
I heard faintly she’d moved and married to an older man,
That her mother graciously accepted a dowry enough for three cows.
Shame molds her final message etched in flowers,
Its fungus spreads and dries, it gives no seeds for me to bring to life.
Master never spoke in words, just as she did to me--
We suppress the grittiness of our souls with perfectly primed clothes.
I bury my arms in the soil, I dig holes big enough for my carcass to fill
I give birth to life, as Nature has given to me, I have done my part to return
She takes, coldly and indifferently. She gives to me, she grows my hope with sunlight.
My flesh will rot for her, my donation will be made to the dirt I try so hard to flourish
She waters my confusion, she feeds it, and when I am full she leaps to take.

See, Master is closer to Death than I ever will be now, and I know he thinks of it too.
The first and last time I saw her face, I wished to be her, to know her love.
As a boy I buried my head in dusted medicinal books, I wished to know more
I wanted to bond with Nature, I wanted to know all the secrets the old men knew.
The schoolchildren laughed at the absurdity of a man who wanted a woman’s job
And I had told her one day, since she loved the flowers so much, she could learn too.
She smiled softly, as she always had. We both knew she wasn’t allowed to as a woman.
I wonder as the days pass me by if I should feel grateful for the body I have,
Or if Nature continues to punish me for having blue eyes instead of brown.
Nothingness enfolded me into its sheets as a smile spread across my face.

UPDATED VERSION, THANKS TO THE REVIEWERS BELOW

Frilly white hems brushed my side,
Her mother’s call was stiff and stern
She hurried away, dazzled in mid-morning light
It had played with the upturned corners of her eyes,
Sliding off her eyelashes and sparkling down her cheeks
Her hands moved freely, but she’d quickly realized
And puppeteered them with the controlled grace of a patriarchal swan.
Her mother, briefly out the window pane gave me that look,
Her eyes as gritty and plain as dirt, and I remarked in thought--
Hm. Perhaps she has buried earthworms in those eyes.

Then I went along, back to my master’s blooming infirmary garden.
Once he cloaked the door with vines and clusters of wine grapes,
But then came the town clerk who’d taken them by the basket,
The hog of a man had barely paid a penny, and as he left he called,
“Keep it tidy ‘round these parts. Don’t let those plants grow amok.
Good to keep appearances up on these busy streets.”
Master’s slight smile and quiet utterances had me mistaken,
I had thought of him as a gentle apothecary, a pushover even;
Only a hermit that’s been locked up for too long with no wife or kids.
Yet, in the soil of his brown eyes faintly gleamed precious gems
Too dangerous to unearth around greedy men who’d pluck them out his skull.
No, he was a man of flexible steel, a young tree with century old roots.

He kept me busy from afternoon to evening, and my thoughts wandered,
Floating to the puffy clouds above, drifting from my dirt caked fingernails.
I was lucky enough to be able to wash away Nature’s stains in the creek,
But Master will never be able to erase the wrinkles and scars of age on his face.
The hopes of sweeping off the sign pointing to his lonely street had long gone.

Coins of light winked at me, but even I wouldn’t grasp for them.
Their brilliance only reminded me of her upturned smile,
The one she’d quickly forced away, as if it were a sin to be happy.
A curled piece of hair began to slip loose from her tight bun,
And she moved it modestly, as if she hadn’t even noticed.
Socially acceptable, kept appearances; I think she’s good at the game.

When she returned in that white lace dress,
The garden snapped twigs across her feet, stained the cloth.
Its humidity frizzed her hair, but she was too absorbed to care.
I welcomed her with a tender voice, to make up for my peasant clothes.
Curfew separated us most days, but I didn't mind
Because I knew she’d come again with that taut smile,
Budding vivacious petals as she set foot in the garden.
As master had taught me, I taught her each use, every color, every name
And soon we began to speak in the language of flowers.
From my scraped hands I supplied her yellow marqueriles,
Sometimes I’d scatter their breathless, warm petals outside her window
Others I’d find the windswept shreds of yellow caught on tangles of vine.

She lay wild roses over the fence of the clothmaker’s shoppe,
I remember I cradled them like a dead bird, I understood pain
To my twisted dismay, they’d grown no thorns to draw me away.
The yellow pansies I stowed away carried pieces of her smile,
The red pansies I left to bleed out on the rain-slickened street,
I left it to get its life crushed by the hooves of a noble’s stallion,
I thought its destruction would starve my growing dread.

Master’s eyes bore through me at the supper table,
His weathered soul drove a spear through my thickened cloud.
The sun had turned its back on me, its rays faded in grey skies
I faced away, harboring secret wishes to feel its glowing light.
The evening morphed into a drab, metallic light.
Its wings spread so vast it encroached on any hint of summer season.
I slept lightly, woke often, I turned and twisted but I did not sweat.
The early morning was shy, I feigned ignorance
I buried my hands in the Earth, its molten core refused to burn
I wanted to tell it I wished to feel its burning passion,
That I didn’t care. But God is distant and omnipotent,
So too is the lava heart that burns anyone who comes close.

My vision blurs at the bouquet of red tulips at the door
I couldn’t bring myself to squeeze the juice out their bright stems.
Master had known then, but he let the winds of my fate go freely.
Then I understood how the tides of time swept away youth,
Grating away the pristine innocence of beige sands,
Grinding bones to craft strings of seashells and then snatching them away
Back to the eternal ocean, where as generously as it gave it quickly stole.

The sunlight broils my hands, the repetitive pulling of weeds is dull
The woods whisper, they tell me of her marriage to an older man.
Shame molds her final message etched in flowers,
Its fungus spreads and dries, it gives no seeds for me to bring to life.
Master never spoke in words, just as she did to me--
We suppress the grittiness of our souls with perfectly primed clothes.
I surrender my arms to dirt, I dig holes big enough for my carcass to fill
I give birth to life as Nature has given to me, yet she takes indifferently.
She gives to me, she grows my hope with sunlight, she waters confusion
My flesh will rot for her, a donation to the dirt I work tirelessly to flourish
She feeds a young man’s faith, and when I am full she leaps to take.

The first and last time I saw her face, I wished to be her, to know her love
In the same fascination I’d had as a boy, head buried in herbal books
I wanted to bond with Nature, to know all the secrets the older men knew.
The schoolchildren laughed at the absurdity of a boy who wants a woman’s job
The taunts of a homosexual plagued me all year round.
I had told her one day, since she loved flowers so much, she could learn too.
She smiled softly, as always. We both knew she wasn’t allowed as a woman.
As days and nights pass me by, I wonder if I should be grateful for this body
Or if Nature continues to punish me for having blue eyes instead of brown.