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Open Poetry #34
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Jump (for those who haven't jumped yet)
| Open Poetry #34 |
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Jump (for those who haven't jumped yet) |
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Jaime Fradera Senior Member
since 2000-11-25
Posts 843Where no tyranny is tolerable |
Jump (for those who haven't jumped yet) 1: It is very early morning. In the quiet predawn darkness I wait beside the road, for the motorcycle that will come for me. It is coming from a place to which I may not go. Soon I hear its distant drone, now growing louder and louder. My muscles tense, waiting for the exact moment, and as the cycle rushes past me, without even slowing down, I jump. I land precariously between two women, in a space they saved for me. I sit behind the driver, hanging on to her for all dear life. behind me sits her friend who is hanging on for all dear life to me. I am terrified that we are speeding much too fast, like riding a plunging, motorized Bronco, that I might fall into the street at any moment. we merge with the freeway flow of traffic into the city. In a modulated radio voice, The driver reads the traffic news into the radio station, but the voice is not her own. She is in disguise. We arrive at a place where the cycle must be parked, a place to which I may not go. This first time Her best friend is coming with me; and as the seat flies out beneath us, like synchronized sky divers, we jump. I bounce, stumble, Tottering … and falling … With firm and gentle hands her best friend steadies me, helps me to my feet again. 2: As the other girl returns, She leads me to an inner sanctum, to some interior and enchanted place of her's ... Her dress shop? ... Her den? ... A place of sacred love and warmth, Where she can take off her disguise. Here are tumbled piles of fabrics strewn wild all around me on the floor. we sit, disheveled, our legs entangled, among the chaos of her underclothes and talk. Then, in the evening, when it is time to go, she asks her friend to help me. We go to an appointed place, and as the cycle rushes by, we jump. 3: It is the next morning. Once again, I wait for her beside the road. Once again, the cycle rushes by. and at precisely the right moment, I jump. There will be no traffic talk today, though she drives in her disguise; for there is a pursuer. she can see him in her mirror, stalking her, again, mouthing curses at the traffic that blocks his view ahead. He doesn't know we’re just ahead of him, doesn't know how close he is. She watches in relief as he turns in frustration off Culebra and is gone. We reach our destination, and once again her best friend helps me jump. This time our jump is perfect and we hit the ground together. Just as on the previous day, she leads me to her secret sanctum, where no one else may enter, Where we can both be free. shedding her disguise. we spend the whole day talking, loving, laughing, teasing … sitting on the floor, lying in each other's arms, disheveled, our legs entwined, her lingerie strewn Wild all around me. In the evening it is time to say goodbye. I stand up to embrace her; she is very tall and lush and ... nude ... her clothes a tumbled pile of fabrics on the floor. Then she warns me not to kiss her, apologizing for the problem ... He might have followed, might be watching ... She is terrified of him and I must leave. 4" It is afternoon. I stand out on my front porch, when all at once, a thunderstorm erupts. The rain is torrential, but lasts only a minute. somehow, in the storm, somewhere, through my tears, I understand why it had to be this way, why we had to break it off, why she had to say, goodbye. SC |
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Jaime Fradera Senior Member
since 2000-11-25
Posts 843Where no tyranny is tolerable |
Those who have ever visited Mexico know how they drive in Mexico. They play this game called hit the gas... like the little old lady from Pasadena. It's a cultural thing, you know. Sort of like bull fighting ... |
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