Musings

Crazy, losing your mind; Crazy, aging. Crazy licks the chocolate from the fondue pot, Loony Lucy jokes. Youthful, they don’t know where they’re heading. To lick fondue from under their nails, from the rims of mugs, drooling for still-smooth, liquid chocolate. Watching the cocoa film harden on plump strawberries, watching and waiting, can’t touch the forbidden glaze until it’s hard enough, and waiting and all is waning, glossy to matte. Minds sharp and wit, shining with use, turn matte and smooth, carved away, the block of soapstone full of edges that could cut diamonds, could outwit their brilliance, could make soft hard and tight and lethal, minds that could be anything, have finally been ground down; like Michelangelo, cruel time sees a shape, an angel, a stupid angel, in a block of cold, beautiful, unyielding marble, and flays at it with that which is as gentle and harsh as water. Time like an ocean wears away at its treasures, grinding away memories. At first with a child-like indulgence, her tough, graceful fingers wipe at the slippery chocolate; a naughty, joking gesture, she licks it off her finger, but her finger returns to the pot instead of cleaning itself on a napkin, the napkin that fell to the floor. It’s obscene now; her lips are lined with inky brown that seeps into the cracks around her mouth. Her hair looks less like a glamorous whip of silver and more like brittle, grey cotton candy, tugged this way and that by children, wind. Angry mom stands spiky with the ladle.

In my head are many facts of which I wish I was more certain I was sure. ~The king of Siam