For the unhappy but intelligent engineer I met online in 2018… He could tell a story. Would it be like this?
So many questions. . .
This woman. She confused me so.
Is she kind? She is.
Does she know Heidegger?
She does. She said he’s her brother.
Can she walk on water? Yes, truly. I do believe she could.
Is she well – groomed?
What about lipstick, nail polish?
“It’s a tyranny,” she says.
Surely not, it can’t be.
She has black stains on her fingers?
Her hands are always wandering away in her herbs.
Plant phenols?
(The application of lemon juice can solve this dilemma.
If she can remember to apply it.)
She digs into dirt?
Cobwebs in her hair? Curls? Yes, her hair curls freely.
It flies everywhere. No order at all.
Colored purple, blue, pink, lavender.
No.
Please.
She needs to be blonde.
Intolerable.
Her shirt? It’s inside out!
And she doesn’t notice?
Out of control. Impossible.
Pictish genes, she says. She blames it all on her Pictish genes?
There is no such thing. Ridiculous.
But how does she know what I’m thinking?
Even when I’m 500 miles away: She knows. How?
Her slanted green eyes (that might be blue) enchant me. I cannot look away.
Drill into me. Truth, she always sees through me, my lies.
Her bosom is deep and wide. So comforting. So beautiful. Ah.
Her mind…moves so quickly. Matches mine.
She makes me laugh. We can talk about anything.
Could we two be companions meant to wander along a newfound road?
But when she walks, why can’t she glide?
Why the confident stride?
Who schooled this woman? The Wild?
She says it was Crow herself who taught her all she knows.
Badbh of the three crows dancing.
What??
The Bansidhe? Extraordinary. Fascinating.
She flows, uncontained, uncontainable.
Chaotic nonsense. Lacks focus.
How dare she say that stones speak, that they tell their own stories?
