Rusty Nail - Prose

Walking in the Steens
Crisp air, autumn hues
You might have been there

If Currier and Ives made Autumn cards
Like they make Christmas cards
This is one we would see
Each October

There was the deepest blue mountain sky
There were the aspen trees
In almost gaudy array
A foot-freezing stream
The smell of sage
Mountains in the distance with the faintest dusting
Of new snow

I turned up my collar against the
Breath of the morning
As my own breath
Hung lighhtly in the air

I had been walking along
An ancient fence line
And came to a place
Where I could see
In the distance
The fence turn hard
To the North

There was a stand of aspens
Seemingly gazing at the corner of the fence
As if it were something worthy of discussion

They were right
As aspens usually are
And they told me the things they saw

The fence had once been built
By a careful man
Who had placed each post plumb
At approximately the same height
In a straight line
At the correct depth
To save it from winter's blast

The fence was there
To keep some things out
And some things in
And the owner of the gate
Had passed

The pasture itself was now
Overgrown
But even in its old age
I could tell
It was once a beautiful partnership
Between this man and Creation

I could imagine
The horses and stock
That represented
The earthly concerns of this man
On his earthly journey;
Food, mobility, safety
All enclosed within this fence
In this crystalline mountain pasture

But the aspens laughed
As aspens usually do
And begged a closer look

(Of course I complied)

At the west end of the fence
Where it turned to the north
There was a gate
On rusty hinges
Held by a rusty lock
Nearby, on the largest aspen
A silver key hung on an old nail

The rust on the lock
Had built up by molecules
Over generations now
At first the lock had been sticky
Then hard to open
Now frozen
Not useful except to say
"I once was..."
Or maybe, "Be careful..."

For beyond the fence
Beyond the gate
Among those laughing aspens
There stands a pasture

A pasture that once was
A pasture that held promise
A pasture that was beloved
A pasture that is now forgotten
A pasture that is now abandoned
A pasture that is now alone
A pasture that can only be observed
From outside the gate
The gate with the rusty lock

Maybe one day a man will come
Who will need the pasture again
He will remove the rusty lock
And the old nail
And the unreconciled key

Maybe that man will open the gate
And the pasture will welcome him
And tell him, above the suggestions
Of the aspens
What is needed to make it
Useful to the man

Walking away on that misty morning
The aspens called out
As aspens usually do, saying,

It is not too late
Never too late
To find a way
To open the gate.

--Eric Marley
October 2010

Merman (Short Story)

Merman

The boat was safe. The boat was sane. The boat was known. But the boat served the same food. It was good food, but it was the same food. For no particular reason, I wandered one night to the outside deck alone, inexplicably and unmistakably restless, dissatisfied and bored. I looked up and I saw stars, the same ones that had always been there, of course. But this night was different, somehow. I had never seen them, really seen them before this night, this moment. Tonight they seemed to gently speak to me, and I loved their words. As they spoke to me, deep within myself, I looked overboard and saw them reflected in the water. Oh, the water! I’d been on this boat for hours, days, weeks, months, years, and the water…. I’d never seen it, never considered it, either. It was unfathomable, literally. It had always been deep and often brooding, but now it sparkled with starlight as if the stars and the water smiled at an inside joke. Better yet, the water was accessible, unlike the stars themselves that spoke from so high above. But still, the stars were in it, and I knew that it would reflect the greatest star of all in the daytime in blinding sparkles. Tonight as it showed back nighttime's billion faces, I suddenly laughed aloud with them in the ocean's mirrored surface. Everything was new, as if I had just come from another planet or maybe more accurately, another realm or dimension. From then on, every night, after the citizens on the boat went to bed, I came out and looked at the stars; my stars. After a while I looked only at the water, where I could see two magical things at once in my eyes. The water contained the stars. I fell in love with the water, for it held them, and it held the sky, so much larger than anything I had ever seen. Let me pause here to ask when a baby is considered to be “born”?When he is half way from his mother? No, but even as he passes through the birth canal he is "being born". It was like that for me. After many nights spent gazing at the water there came a moment when I was in my berth, in my safe and secure womb. Then, without intention but with great purpose I walked towards my familiar place on the bow. All at once I felt a tug in my heart and then breeze all over my body and in the next moment I was in the water! My heart had known long before the rest of me that I had to jump. I had to feel it. I’d been told my whole life on the safe, sane boat to avoid the water for myriad reasons. But for good or bad, I simply had to know. Doctrines I had always heard had kept me on the boat until this moment. Would it be too cold? Would it melt my skin? Would animals eat me? Would I bounce? Would I drown? I was now a crazy adventurer, averse to questions of basic safety, sanity and sustainability. I noticed immediately that I didn't bounce or drown. On the contrary, my skin felt more alive than it had ever felt. I was at home, finally! This sentiment was nearly unexpected, nearly unimaginable, but it was welcome and I smiled to myself in wonder. 

Suddenly alarms sounded, so foreign and intrusive to the peace that had taken sudden residence inside me and made a nest. As I tread water I calmly watched people rush onto the night deck. I could see their faces from the traveling vessel. Some were angry, others pitiful. A flotilla of life rings filled the air, briefly obscuring the stars. In that instant I resented them for obscuring my friends, but I forgave them just as quickly because I knew their intent was borne of love and fear, as incompatible as those emotions are. A few of my would-be rescuers yelled at me, telling me what to do with their implements. I was supposed to know instinctively, and I probably did, although I'd never thought I'd actually need one. Of the ones that spoke their wills to me, none of their instructions made sense given my new found knowledge, and more importantly, none of them asked if I thought I should get out of the water, or if they should get in. So I stayed, treading. The boat pulled the life rings past me one by one as it traveled on its voyage. The water was warm. It held me, wholly, holy. I felt pressure in all my parts. I felt consumed by it. I felt a part of it. I was a part of the fabric of the thing that held the stars! Could anything be better? I saw the faces of my would-be rescuers on the deck, but fewer and fewer. Some that had thrown one life ring came back and threw another. But their attempts were woefully short now. One by one they hung their heads and went back to their berths, their wombs, their safety. I wondered what effect my decision would have on them, and part of me wanted to know, but the price would be far higher than I would be willing to pay. Still, I knew the boat could come back if I called. But the Captain had seen this before and there was only so much concern in him because he knew… a jumper most often stayed. I was now a Jumper. I couldn’t imagine, now that I had felt the water, ever being out of it, certainly not forever. In front of me a shark swam gently by, uninterested for now. But would that change? I didn’t know. My arms began to tire and my breath began to labor. The boat sank from sight. Thankfully the stars that had been obscured by the boat's light reappeared in the inky sky. Still, I began to feel fear, but looking up at the stars I knew that somehow it would be alright, even though the fear remained. All at once I felt a tickle on either side of my neck. I tentatively reached my hand up and felt an opening on either side. At first I was appalled and then I realized it: I had gills. Apparently I had always had them under my skin but never, until I ignored the accepted notions of sanity and safety, had I used them or known of them. I smiled to myself, thanking the whole sky as I let myself sink down. The stars in the night sky, always solid and stable in their celestial dance before, shimmered now as the water closed over my head. Immersed, encased in liquid stars now, I swam slowly away.

Jumper (Poem)

Jumper

And I stood there, poised to fly

On top of the bridge
Above the sky

And I remembered the water
That made the orange juice that my mother
Gave me in the morning
And it looked nothing like the water
Of the filthy river below me

“Have a good day,” she’d say

As she handed me the blinding sun
And I blinked

But it’s been a rough day
All my life
So I draw some blood
With the edge of the knife
And I want to whisper like the last girl did
With a lusty voice in my ear
To the sky
As it whips past my fears

“Where is the air?
Can you help me?”

That water in the orange juice my mother gave me

Is full of spies
It’s camouflaged as good
But they mix well
She didn’t know
She tried
She did her best
And still
It’s the best memory I’ve ever had
The way it sparkled in the sun
The way I breathed and the air came
Into my lungs
Easy
As if it made a home there
There was no choking then
I never choked back then
Before my eyes were hollow
I never choked

So now I see
The filthy river below me
And behind me
And I wonder if I will ever breathe again
Will the water rush into me?
Will I get air on the way down?
Will gravity push it into my lugs?
Easy, like when I was a child
And my mother handed me orange juice
In the sparkling morning
And the sun was in it
And the air stayed home.

--Eric Marley

January 2013

A Poem About The Effect On My Mood When A Stranger Urinates Upon My Cheerios - POEM

A Poem About The Effect On My Mood When A
Stranger Urinates Upon My Cheerios

I
Spit my gum
Where
People step
And
I don't care.

--Eric Marley
January 2013

Homeless Man and Buddy Wakefield Poem snippet

Suicide and Gravity - POEM

Suicide and Gravity

I’m sitting here at Powells Books on a rainy night in January

It’s ground zero for suicide talk
Only Juneau is worse (or maybe Utah)
Everyone has one foot in the grave here
And they all know
It’s gonna be
A damned vacation
When they get there

I’m smoking pot in the store

Through my electric vaporizer
I got a condition, after all
I just don’t remember
What it is
So I hope
He don’t ask

The cars driving by in front of the window from left to right

Make me believe I am traveling backwards in time
A croak/us folding up
The people that come and go in the chair next to me
Make me feel like I am moving in a donut sky
And I start to wonder why
I want to kiss the grizzled face of the man that plops down next to me
Smelling of whiskey and road and so much sAinT
That gravity just works differently on him 

And I wonder why I am alone and unhappy

And why I am in a crowd and crying

And why I can’t make her stay
And why I cut myself and think it’s good
And why I feel sorry for all the wrong people
And why I’m a middle-aged white man asking all these
Motherfucking
Questions
And I look up and the cars have stopped
And I see the face in the glass
And it’s me
And grizzled
And tired
And afflicted by gravity.

--Eric Marley

January 2013