Silhouettes: Poems & Songs

by Francis R. Guevara

of younger servants, of course.” she admitted. When they’d reached the second floor, something curiously plopped into the young man’s mind. Have I been here before?

  Suddenly everything felt to rush back to him, but sadly it was only a small recollection of himself wandering the dark woods as a child, tears seeping as he called for his father. Father, the word lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he had no memory of ever having a father. Let alone, he had no memory of himself in the past and presently.

  After the brief tour, Dexanary guided him back to the small cot and excused herself for the rest of the evening to do some chores for Princess Calbar. The man gladly awaited in the cot, resting on the bedding he had awoken from and contemplated, questioning himself over and over until he’d fallen asleep.

  As he slept, through his endlessly pacing mind he found himself wandering the dark woods as a child again. The sky was plated in dark thunderous clouds which bellowed so often that he jumped, startled and afraid. His voice was shaken and tears filled his eyes as he called out the same word over and over, “father?! Father?! Father, where are you?!” and then rain fell over him and he awoke to find himself in cold sweat struggling to catch his breath.

  The day had still yet to draw its veils of the night sky and Dexanary had yet to return. Wanting to keep from having another nightmare the man had decided to cook supper before Dexanary returned and to keep his mind off of the pivoting word which kept echoing in his conscience. Father!

  Within the next passing hour Dexanary reentered her cot, the scent of chicken basil soup and the warmth from the chimney welcoming her after a long days work, “and to what do I owe this welcoming?”

  The man however paid no mind, his eyes intently wandering his bare abdomen where the large blackness Dexanary had come across was bridged by a greenish yellow border; the tourniquet for his left arm had been removed and he traced the stitching before placing it back. Dexanary was washed by a sense of remorse towards his curiosities. She alone had the faintest idea as to whom he was, or where he had come from. But she knew of the constant wonder he had been plagued with since he’d awoken. She knew the frustration of not knowing who you were and having nowhere to belong.

  Like himself, once long ago Dexanary was found by a stranger as a child far off in the meadows. She had no family, at least none she could recall. The stranger took her in and raised her as his own. Until his death. “Forgive the boldness of the stitching, dear.” she started, forcing the tears from escaping through her memory. “I feared an infection would seep through even the smallest wound.”

  Startled by her presence, the man retrieved the fleece shirt, but struggled unlike before. As he cringed with pain, gritting his teeth, Dexanary stepped forth. “Allow me,” she insisted. She cautiously put one hand beneath the shirt and guided his broken arm through the sleeve and then placed his head through the collar before he could place his other arm.

  “Forgive me,” the man exclaimed. “I didn‘t thank you for your hospitality.”

  “No need,” she insisted. “Your presence is thanks enough.”

  “Are you certain? I mean I…I don‘t mean to impose.”

  “I am more than certain, dear.” She assured him, placing his arm back in the tourniquet before seating herself at the table. “I see your day was as productive as mine.”

  “To say the least,” he said in response. “I have however been circling my mind about my father.”

  “Do you recall his name?”

  “No,” he responded as if disappointed. “I just keep having this vivid recollection of myself searching for him, shouting for him. And then I‘m back to this void of reality where I am just a man with no memory. No life. No being, anything.”

  “My father would always tell me to clear my mind and it would in time come to you when you least expect it.”

  The man gave a sly smile and thanked her for the advice.

  Dexanary soon came to rest as the man sat before the settling fire. The flames dancing in his eyes, fluorescently lighting the room and his face. He knew that Dexanary spoke a great possibility which would soon come. She was a dear old woman, but a youthful heart. There was just something about her being that lifted him. Especially in these days of lingering darkness on his true being. And as the flames danced, fading down, the man fought to keep from sleep, but soon fell…

  Coming Soon