by Tuttle, Dan;
“I don’t get how some outsiders imposed
an overriding dibs.” At loggerheads
with cashier’s stance, she’d angered. “Stel, it’s cash.
It isn’t you. They pay more.” “Eggs are cheap!”
“It’s like you told me, messages take flash.
Our local pocketbooks don’t run too deep,
But glitzy foreign travelers arrive
and want a curio? Locals contrive
109.
to get it on the market.” Stel looked down,
sun since declined and left the scene to cool.
But one fluorescent-lit glow showed the town
that commerce now competed with night’s ghouls.
To Stel’s delight, she knew its source next door!
The dry goods store that Stella once approached
to make BLING’s collar rose to rich, from poor,
and bloomed in city’s rented space. “Let’s broach
the thought we’re here to buy, while other climbs
to second floor from back door, then can sneak
across the clothesline.” “Brilliant. I think I’m
more suited to distract aground.” Physique
suggested so. “Pull the heartstrings of the gent
who ran me from his shop in discontent.”
110.
The opened door revealed a man confused.
He thought he recognized the lass – or lad? –
but could not place kid properly. Child oozed
an air of pity, shirts thrice patched with pad
and stitches showing poverty of purse.
Most parents in those parts would doubtless pay
for new attire for children uncoerced,
if only having means so that they may.
“I never give to beggars,” explained he,
determined mug as mask. It weakened when
the visitors stayed silent, stood, no plea.
“Mere children? Ugh, take fifty shillings then.
God’s blessed me hundredfold with skill imbued,
for Him I’ll share small riches I’ve accrued.”
111.
“I’ve come to pay my debts,” the left one said,
and offered up a thousand shilling note.
“I’ve worried and for months been filled with dread
because I broke your mop. I did devote
a lengthy stretch of time to learning how
to build street toys and sell them, as to save
sufficient money that would then allow
me to return. Forgive, I’ve misbehaved.”
Her outstretched monied hand was left unmet
by matching hand from Anton, thunderstruck.
“Dear girl, these minor things are to forget.
My anger was my fault. Your blunder? Luck.
You’ll give me not one coin. In fact, I owe
you for clean floors. Please, browse what’s here on show.”
112.
He took them in and showed them the expanse
of goods he’d come to sell in larger shop.
“I’ll pay in kind for what you’ve done, financed
with interest.” “What’s the price on what’s atop
the mounted bustard bust in corner there?”
asked Ab, who had a hunch the pieces would
be just the thing for aerial affairs.
“Those harnesses?” asked Anton as he stood
to reach them. “Price is nothing. Now they’re yours.
Be careful with the straps, make sure you close
the buckles tightly as to help ensure
against an accidental fall.” “I know
precisely how that feels,” Abu said, winked,
accepted, backed through front door, tour succinct.
113.
As Anton interacted with Abu
young Stella snuck out back and up the stairs
where, lacking harness, she began to rue
that she’d been tasked with climbing; Abu, wares.
But skill returned, as skill is wont to do,
when called upon in life, though unawares,
and thus her inter-building climb debut
was swift and safe and smooth and unimpaired.
She reached the window, plopped in, curtains drew,
then tripped and hit the floor, which dust had layered.
She coughed, got up, and tiptoed downstairs through
scoped store and hoped that she was solitaire.
With pilfered eggs collected, she escaped
through courtyard, sootlike dust on most parts caked.
114.
With conscience clear and karma good to boot,
the kids could hardly wait to go return
to bird her pastel nest of eggy loot.
However, rain made grip strength a concern
since they’d been grounded now for weeks and weeks.
They chose to lay low, train at home until
convinced they’d rebuilt some of prior physique.
The stealth of tiny exercises filled
the need for modicum of questing thrill.
Such practice hiding secrets, fun when young,
runs risk of long descent on steep downhill:
when too good, secrets weave the blanket clung.
For now, they trained their hands and tightened grip
on story they’d restore eggs to kinship.
115.
You should have seen the pair at sunrise when
they met to slog through bush on righteous quest
to reunite the bird with eggs again.
Each, every minor detail was addressed:
they’d layered as to insulate from cold,
they’d ropes and harnesses to access air,
they’d rubberized their shoes to better hold
tight grip to trees, foregoing falling scares.
A comic inspiration meant from belts
they’d hung machete pangas, tinder, light,
as if Paul Bunyan into Batman melts,
turns light survivalist from once-Dark Knight.
And even BLING was equally bedecked,
clad snout to tail in sisal for the trek.
116.
With baobabs left at lower altitude,
the genus of Dalbergia filled space.
Its species melanoxylon previewed
mahogany and blackwood interlaced,
with vines that hung with artificial weight,
themselves the hosts for parasitic moss,
the scene a floral war, and yet sedate
to viewer seeing only groves’ green gloss.
The undergrowth was thicker than they’d thought,
they thanked the fates they’d left at day’s first glow
so trudging through this vast botanic wat
with footstep light would let them, quid pro quo
escape without calamity, unlike
when nature Abu’s first night out did strike.
117.
Expecting BLING most surefoot of the bunch,
the treasured eggs Stel housed upon his back
in pouch positioned past where he could munch
his fur to quell an itch or flea attack.
And good thing, too, for forty minutes hence
a hidden root protruded from the dirt
that sent poor Stella face-first in the dense
and matted mud and leaf atop the chert.
The fall would surely cause an egg to burst—
her gadgets, thankfully, were more robust.
While prostrate there, she found she was headfirst
atop a piece of jasper, colored rust.
She bagged the ground-bound token as earth’s mild
memento of their sojourn in the wild.
118.
Stel’s eyeballs ranged unstopping ’round the soup
of life face planted in. She lacked right words
>
for how close-up inspection ever-duped.
A decade out she’d name them, overheard
in lyrics from Fiasco—he said that:
see big worlds have their little worlds that feed
on their velocity. Stel saw how gnats
gnawed carrion, in turn fed bigger breeds
from vaster canopies. The rap went on,
said little worlds have lesser worlds and so
on to viscosity. Those fractal spawn
invisible to Stella’s eye, earth’s slow
yet macroscopic brilliance did enchant,
Vanilla Sky-like memory bright implant.
119.
The trail they traced was hardly that, made more
by measured stomping of their boot and paw.
They hadn’t fully bushwhacked heretofore,
swung pangas, hacking clear path route through maw.
Not everything was lost with snail-like pace,
in fact, they found themselves more apt to see
the depth and breadth of life that hastes debase
as humans toward their destinations speed.
Post-fall Stel felt like she’d donned spectacles
that showed all living things in more detail,
from beetles’ colored wings to specks that, dull,
reveal each tiny insect’s treaded wales.
The fascinating microscopic scale
allowed the time to simply, past her, sail.
120.
Found scaled-down splendor led to equipoise
between Stel’s looking up and looking down,
eyes flitting to and fro to grasp the joys.
Young Stel became the first to see the gown
of leaf and vine, of branches twisted thick
that draped itself upon the banyans there,
presiding over open bailiwick
with stoic stateliness of legionnaire.
Their goal within the reach of eye and arm,
they shuffled up to trunk with haversacks,
equipment reminiscent of gendarmes
at camp in preparation for attack.
Assault instead meant climbing to replace
the eggs into their mother’s twig airbase.
121.
Stel’s still-held shoulder chip about the wall
at Gumi’s meant she’d trained the toughest grips,
so kids agreed that Stella’d do the haul
of treasure strapped to puppy strapped to hip.
The buckles buckled, clasps clasped tightly too,
then second safety check for conscience’s sake,
and she was ready for the rendezvous.
She feigned a confidence she hoped would make
a difference in performance, having heard
accomplishment is rooted in the brain,
success when visualized is then transferred
to muscles, which obey as preordained.
The folds in bark were deep and would hold fast.
Stel gulped, and prayed this climb not be her last.
122.
The first few steps, her muscles moved in sync,
precisely what she’d asked them all to do,
each working automatically. To think
would override fluid instinct, cause miscue.
And think she did when realizing eight
feet from the ground she was again airborne,
with simple harness to alleviate
the fears of gravity she’d wished forsworn.
Abu, aground, astonished was aware
from furrowed brow and carriage of his friend
that laden climb to her was not nightmare
but also not a thing she’d recommend.
His skyward gaze before hers saw a shape
that aimed to divebomb her through broad leaves’ gape.
123.
Said boss was albatross by wingspan, swept
through gap in canopy with wings tucked in,
an avian device to intercept
exposed and helpless Stella. Her luck, then,
she didn’t see this thunderbolt en route
else she’d have justifiably freaked out,
and leaped from branch in hope of parachute
effect from harness. But, untested, doubts
persisted as to whether it would hold,
and both hoped not to use it at that height.
Rich in her ignorance, Stel stayed controlled
despite the pending pull into dogfight.
Her friend below on guard as air patrol
stood stunned as if the bird his breath had stole.
124.
The impact feared approached as instants passed
and yet the time felt slower than a sloth,
like Spaceman Spiff dialed death-ray gun broadcast
from liquidate to frappé back to froth.
Our stoic Abu nearly wet his slacks
when realizing beastly beak’s fine curve
directly on a line toward Stella’s back—
the impact, though, avoided by a swerve!
A microsecond following the twist,
its length the lag of sound behind the light,
Abu heard YIP! as BLING the bird dismissed,
and Stella, now aware, did expedite
her climb to place of safety, where her heart
in frightened palpitations did restart.
125.
A glance back up the tree to Stella’s perch
revealed one frightened face, four jitt’ry limbs.
Sat paranoid in fear of second lurch,
she raced through expletives and synonyms
in stressed attempt to calm. Her mind, at speed
ran through the acts of Pioneers to date,
adrenaline accelerating deed
in search of memories she could emulate
to extricate herself from doomsday dread.
She thought of jasper found aground. (Sweet ground,
its stillness and consistency…) Thoughts sped
to first night with Abu: cliffs did surround,
but he’d stayed cool. Yes. How? Slowed breath to steer
like Bene Gesserit transcending fear.
126.
Why, yes, she thought, my memory’s so distinct
and clear because back then I thought it odd
a single ritual so plain, succinct
transmuted seething soul to calm façade.
So, bird encircling for a second pass,
she closed her eyes and focused on her nose,
while hands instinctively gripped planty mass.
She breathed in, Yoda calmness tried impose.
A tension in the air was palpable –
whether from nerves or lack of pep, or tree
unused to hosting dog and gal – doubled
when juxtaposing zen and jeopardy.
Yet ounce by ounce her body gained a peace
and from her anxious prison, self released.
127.
Inside she found a certain clarity
hid deep in tempest of her stormy mind.
(In fact, such vastness of disparity
was worth review by later humankind.)
Such halo of lucidity made keen
her brains and eyes and ears and sense of touch,
the chroma like a dose of mescaline,
the confidence to slack white-knuckled clutch.
She realized her instincts served her well,
and looked down lengthy branch she sat astride
to see the nest. But no one could propel
her safely out to it, since she’d provide
an easy target for a second swoop,
and so she paused on arboreal stoop.
128.
She reached behind her back, removing BLING
and petting him with gratitude. He’d seen
the monster thing glide down on striking wings
and fier
cely barked and forced it to careen.
The structure of the satchel with the eggs
was flimsy stuffing in a carton piece,
the tangled parched grass padding bled its dregs
out top, where cinch of string had been released.
A zipper they’d preferred to use, but cash
was short and ingenuity was long,
so after sifting through the neighbor’s trash
they’d put a cord where zipper did belong.
The wisdom, though, was baked in by design:
she’d turn it to delivery dragline!
129.
She thanked the lucky stars she’d trained BLING well
and buckled him and double-checked his ropes:
one slack loop ’round the branch, run parallel
to give a falling safety envelope,
and one to keep in Stella’s hand to pull
precisely when the goods had reached their home,
depositing exactly one bagful
of eggs alongside brethren chromosomes.
Without delay, she sent BLING down thin bough
on which he’d balance. She could not hold her
frame on it, lest the bird’s swoop disendow
of shelled kin, flipping savior saboteur.
The dog trod lightly, bothered not one whit,
as if among the monkeys he could fit.
130.
Bird shadows sliced leaf-mottled sun, its drift
from left to right showed indecision, torn
between a striking dive or thermal lift,
both curious and guarding its unborn.
Maternal instincts struck and guided act,
as bird turned sharply, tucked again in bomb,
suspicious that intruder would ransack
the stout nest over which she reigned as mom.
BLING crouched down low, stuck belly to the bough,
put both ears back and steadied for a fight,
his stance as fearsome as his size allowed.
The bird approached. BLING’s posture wasn’t quite
sufficiently pugnacious to dissuade
the striker, who’d seen right through his charade.
131.
Split second prior to impact, sidewise jump
saved BLING a talon’s gutting there a-branch.
His claws deployed in haste gouged out a lump
of wood, burst brittle barklet avalanche.
In spite of that noteworthy nimbleness,
his gear was not as unscathed as his skin.
So close was call that bird had pilfered this:
the pogo patch that Stel’d on backpack pinned.
In leap he’d shifted closer to the roost
that housed the brethren of the eggs he bore;
a single further step, then Stella loosed
the string that closed the pouch’s egg backdoor.
Though eggs arrested in twig cradle, BLING
mistakenly stepped into one gold ring!
