filled the big triangles at either end;
feeble candlelight unsealed the night
between us, loud with cicadas and dead
souls crying. There was a votive candle in
a shot glass on the dirt floor. Rococo
shadows angled and sprawled across chairs,
long table, canvas, and ourselves.
"Youтve broken me." The words jumped where
my bones should be. Something in me arched
and bristled like a frightened cat. Were
the words mine?
Shaman took them for mine. "Iтm you," he
said. Incomprehensible. "Relax."
I left that place. I left the Space People
sleeping. I left Shaman with his kit of
tropes that killed or cured or pricked
your mind and left you to bleed to death
or to drown in the worldтs blood, bleeding
into you through a tiny hole. The last
thing I saw there was the candle flame
reflected in Shamanтs eyes, two little
flames dwindling as I stumbled out into
the desert, out into stars and the cries
of cicadas and dead souls, which might
have been my tongue, my voice, my limbs,
or my self, since Shaman had pricked a
hole in my mind.
2. Talk with a Joshua Tree
I had a talk in the dark with a Joshua
tree. I said, "Everythingтs okay. I have a
mother in New York. I have brothers and a
sister. My father left us, but heтs still
in my mind. In there, I can see the faces
of all the people in my life, I know the
names of everything, and no one on Earth
would disbelieve me." The Joshua tree was
unconvinced. I couldnтt remember my
motherтs face. I stood there, out of sight
of any highway, lost to the Space People,
stars in my skin. Someone had just spoken.
It might have been the Joshua tree. It
might have been the sand.
