as told by Marji-Gesick


my niece did and did not meet this man everett

she brought him to me and she did not bring him

he found me on the banks of the water they call teal

            or he didn’t

i danced for him when he came, a tradition to create

smoke reflectors, and he smiled as i welcomed him

into my home, though i never saw his face


i led him to god’s thunder dwelling, deposited

him on the front step, introduced them to one another

by name or i left him at the precipice, mountain eyes on him alone


a map in his mind i may or may not have with a stick

in dirt drawn for his benefit, then swept away
 
under my foot, divulging only for a moment

                                                                                   
this god of thunder, also of lightning—i walked away

backwards, completely aware  (or unaware) of his intentions,

to take as much as he could, to keep it all to himself


i heard later that the roots of the mighty pine spoke

fondly of its place on the forest floor undisturbed

and reflecting moonlight unbothered for all eternity

 

but everett didn’t hear her, didn’t see her lips move

because i heard he was blind, which i knew before

or did not know before he ever arrived at my doorstep