Passageways

‘I'd rather there wasn't an afterlife, really.

I'd much rather not be me for thousands of years’

— William Golding

The hall was dark, a solitary lightbulb

swaying uncertainly like a dowsing rod

searching vainly for water.

‘Don’t touch the walls,’ my mother warned,

gripping my hand and leading me

up the winding flight of stairs

unwrapping scented bandages

of mandrake root and talcum powder

clinging in the air with each coiling step

springing us higher, higher, drowning out

the whisper of faint shards of light

The glass door opened and there she stood,

the grieving widow, hair an unkempt halo

of spun sugar and faded autumn straw.

‘Look away,’ my mother’s warning eyes,

as if to shield her vestal daughter

from the sting of Death.

But I saw it anyway, the bloodied cleaver

on the floor hasping the widow’s wounded heart

in two like a half-eaten pastry shell.

‘He’s gone,’ the woman said, ‘gone away forever.’

But I saw him anyway and wondered why

she couldn’t grasp his hand stretched out to her,

his shadowy face so close, a hologram

of unperceived desire.

And the daffodils were in spring bloom

emerging through the carpet, soft green sunshine

blinding twirling streaks of fragrance in the air.

Then the ceiling split apart, the sky a pastel print

of apricot and burning gold, the fragrance

of mimosa fronds, a sugar cotton-candy scent

ineffable and veiled.

Even the snake plant by the door

a token warden standing guard to

drive away the hex and jinx of bad intent

increased in girth, its palms spread open

humming songs of adoration and salute.

I clasped my mother’s hands but soon

they, too, began to twine themselves

in tendrous vesicles, fingers pushing upwards

piping hymn tunes on a silver flageolet

eyes in open wonderment — a peony

of pinkish blush, midsummer green

a jasmine apple of crushed grass

ascending higher in a cloud of prayer.

Anywhere but here, I vowed, catching my breath

and pulled myself away, spiraling downwards

each decaying flight of stairs leading closer,

deeper, into the secure narcotic

of familiar darkness and despair.