Up in the Sky

Up in the sky 9, 1997
© Tracey Moffatt

White Madonna, black babe,
wrapped in milky glory,
they await the arrival
of the pied wise ones
who dance in unholy joy.

A dangerous time.
Nothing is sacred or real.
Men crawl in the dark,
and dance to ward away evil.
Men crawl in the light.

Invaders are here.
Precise, brainy, brawny, violent,
They build and rebuild,
All the time tearing down
the fabric of time.

The pied wise ones
celebrate the black babe.
Precious child! Protect him.
They will hide him. For them
it’s just another habit.

Then There Was Adam

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Adam wondered why he was sitting alone at home again on a Saturday night. Boys like him, fairly good looking and personable, were usually popular.

Carly, his sister, had no problems getting dates, and was upstairs getting ready to go out with some high school jock.

Doug, his younger brother, was a complete geek, but still managed to have a date for the local anime convention.

Even his father had a date (Adam's mother had died over two years ago).

“Fathead, get me a soda from the fridge”, Carly screeched down the stairs at him.

“Get it yourself, elephantine nostrils!”

He turned the sound up on the TV to cover the stream of abuse that rampaged through the house.

I don't know what I'm doing wrong, Adam thought gloomily. Just pull it together, man. Keep on rockin'. Like Jon Bon Jovi. Man, that JBJ was one cool dude.

Not like me, he sighed.

On the sofa next to Adam was a guitar.

Perhaps if I practised playing and singing, I could be just like JBJ, he wondered.

“Queer ass, get me that frickin' soda!”

Really, where did Carly get off talking to him like that? She wasn't his mother and even his mother had never spoken to him so rudely.

Though there was that one time. Unhappy memory, that one, but a long time ago. Virtually forgotten now. Waste of time going there, nothing to be done.

“X-man Skunkerine? Yoo-hoo?”

Zombie apocalypse can't come soon enough, thought Adam.

Found In Time

Did I ever tell you about the time I told you about time?

It wasn't in this life otherwise you wouldn't be looking at me so strangely. Am I right?

It was two, no, three lifetimes ago. We were monks living in a secluded monastery in the Abruzzi Appenines. Yes, we were both men then. Don't you remember?

No, I guess you don't. I remember all my lives, well, all my deaths really. If I remembered my lives, I might not be doomed to keep repeating the same mistakes. I know that every time I die, I see what it is I needed to learn in that life. Yet even as I remember that previous death in this life, the knowledge I gained at the moment of death is gone. I am a clean slate, waiting to write the same old stories along with the new ones. Such is the nature of reincarnation.

Out of the Closet

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I never expected that one day I'd open my closet door and find the man of my dreams staring back at me. Now I know what people mean when they say “you could have knocked me down with a feather”. You could have knocked me down with far less. Mind you, he looked equally startled, standing there with a flimsy floral blouse falling over his left shoulder and one cowboy-booted foot in my yellow tote.

We stared at each other, seconds slipping by in silence, then I took a breath as he took breath.

“Who are ...” “What are you ...” “How did I ...”“What is ...”

We both stopped talking at once.

“You first,” he muttered, his face a sudden storm cloud.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in in my closet?” I said.

The dark look on his face faded, replaced by confusion.

“I have no idea what I'm doing here,” he answered in a soft drawl. “One moment I was opening my front door to go out, the next I'm here. Name is Jared, by the way.”

He smiled tentatively. God, he was handsome. In an unconventional way, but handsome nonetheless.

“Well Jared,” I replied, “you better get out of there before you do some damage.

He took a step forward, noticed his foot was caught in my tote, attempted to extract it, and lurched out of my closet knocking several items of clothing off their hangers and emerging draped in said several items.

Pumpkin Sunsets

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Aunt Jess was Dad's sister and your archetypal country woman - generous, home-loving and down-to-earth. She lived in a neat weatherboard cottage on the outskirts of Mudgee, with a clear view of the iconic Blue Mountains on one side, and of newly planted vineyards on the other. She was a member of the CWA, an association of indefatigable country women dedicated to supporting their communities with fundraising and fetes.

Aunt Jess's house was always full of the delicious smell of baked goods - lamingtons, ANZAC biscuits, and her specialty, pumpkin scones. I still recall the absolute bliss of biting into one of these fluffy orange delights, dripping with butter, made with love. Aunt Jess always said that her pumpkin scones were my Dad's favourite treat.

Mum and I went to live with Aunt Jess after Dad died in the Vietnam war. I was too young to miss my Dad - his absence from my life really only became clear when I was an adult. Even so, there were were times as a child when I would sit on the back verandah, munching a scone and watching the sun go down over the ordered lines of twisted vines in the fields opposite.

I Loved a Clown

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Did I ever tell you about the time I fell in love with circus clown?

It was doomed from the start as I suffer from coulrophobia. How I managed not to run away in fright in the first place is still a mystery to me. Clowns are terrifying! Yet there was something different about Jo-Jo. His nose was a little less red and bulbous than the other clowns, his pallor a little less deathly white, his mouth not so garishly red and misshapen. His eyes were kind and only a little twinkly, not sparkling maniacally.

He was kind and gentle, and tried so hard not to scare me. He could see my fear from the get go and after a while, I could see his sweetness. With much coaxing (which consisted of juggling twelve, yes, TWELVE coloured balls at once), he convinced me to go on a date with him.

I dressed in my best clothes, usually reserved for weddings and afternoon teas with my father's mother (none of us dared to call her grandmother). Jo-Jo met me at the town square and we went for lime ice cream sodas at the cafe in Scaramouche Street. The townspeople stared rudely at us and sniggered. I felt ashamed to be considered one of them. My protective nature came bristling to the fore, banishing my fear in its wake. Other girls may go for rebellious biker types but not me. I loved a clown!

Marianna

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Marianna believed in magic. I did not. I lived it, breathed it, ate and drank it, but I did not believe it. It was all too commonplace - herbs, potions, timing and tricks of the mind. I knew how magic worked.

Marianna and I grew up together. She was the daughter of a proud and haughty lord, and an incomparable beauty. Silken hair the colour of ravens' wings, azure blue eyes, translucent skin glowing with a love of life, and a smile so sweet it could melt the frostiest heart.

Marianna had the world at her feet yet she never abused her feminine power. I was the son of the castle healer, handsome enough, intelligent, but out of her league. Why Marianna bothered befriending me, I never questioned. We could never really be together, never marry. Her father would not permit such an unlikely pairing. Nevertheless, I loved Marianna and she loved me. That was all that mattered.

Or I thought that was all the mattered until Roderick happened.