Obsession is an unfathomable thing. Who can dip a toe in her deep waters, sink a stone
within her shallows, cast forth the line to draw her up, plumb with serpents her hidden
depths. She is woman, tall and fine, clothed in the histories of deceit and betrayal, smelling
of linen and lies, wrapped in the surcease of ever-starving eyes, clothed in the mint of
panting breath that stares eternal at the sun, blinded and dying with every desperate heave.
Look, she stares at you from brilliant eyes and flashing feet as you run pell-mell
towards the sun-blue shore. In the waving hands she flickers, motioning with curling fingers
as you spy on this new mushroom, clamber up this shoot-sprung tree. She is everywhere you run,
in the covers as you read from brittle books, and in the darkness when you whisper on your
secret tin-can phone to the one who's just outside the window and down the way.
She is he.
There goes his feet, and he dashes by, tripping on his shoe-laces to lie far-flung in the
sea-white sand. You see his arms flail as you catch him and know that you are the one at sea
even though you're the one to save him. His images are everywhere in your mind. See! There is
his teeth and tongue, dancing together on a tapestry of red velvet and marble white columns.
Look! His eyes are thick with eyelashes, forests full of happy tales and brand new things to
store in bright yellow pockets. Behold! He races, always in motion, the perfect momentum
machine!, from this nook to this cranny, up the tree and into the waters, until finally he
blazes for home and mother's with wafting cookie smells and books with far-flung pages.
Snapshot! His mother smiles at you, filling your hands with bits of brown dough, hot as
summer with steaming sugar engines, and you him in her eyes, in the lilt of her cheeks, the
lines of her hands, the curl of her hair. Photo! His father you've only see on glitter, tilt
pictures on tall, chocolate smell cabinets, grinning with that perfect smile, laughing with
those shining teeth, gleaning beneath bangs like a flopping wood waterfall.
And then you and he are upstairs! Into the room with gewgaws and clutter bits, of paper
and model airplanes that never flew because they're stuck to the tables with glue, this
perfect place of adventure. Here you pull the moon-blue bed-curtain closed and pull this
obsession close, hauling out that ancient and musty book, that breathes of mummies and
pirates, and ghosts that shout boo in the dark. Here you wrap your fingers around your soul
and breath in the particles of sand and sunshine that make your world go round and round, and
know that there is nothing more beautiful than a squirming boy and nothing more enticing than
the demon, angel, god, boy! that is obsession.
Kingdom Hearts |