Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

The twig was just a dead branch once, sank down, found sustenance, began to grow. The mound climbed slower than the tree, but underground dried bones drank sacred fill of chlorophyll and gray turned green. One winter, when the sap flows deep, these creeping roots shall rise, no more asleep.

Like calls to like. Her avatar Searched ever far and wide to find The like that called to her. Like seeking like, but never same For mass and anti-matter flash, The future slashed and burned. Like finding like. What if she’d stayed Not strayed? The universe is now Unraveled, overturned.

Are there snakes in Ireland? Or worms That wriggle and squirm? Children cry. Three-leafed clovers for truth Four-leafed luck but Here’s five? Are there snakes? The invader Leaf-arms and leaf-legs and one head Takes the kids from their beds. Should’ve driven out clover dear Saint Let the green-snake grass grow.

Open it. It’s blank. Read it. It’s blank. Think about it… and slowly the writing appears. The picture… See what you’re thinking of? No? Tell me who. Have you guessed that I’ve sent you this card. Think of me. Picture me. Open it. I’m reading your thoughts on my machine.

When they replaced me with robo-mom I thought it’d turn out okay. Looking back, I suspect I wasn’t so sure beforehand, but I didn’t have much choice. So here I am, up to my elbows in suds one moment; flat on the floor throwing sparks from my wiring the next.

“That’s a novel idea.” “What?” “Going back to the beginning of time.” He showed her the instructions. “See, so you can tell if women were really made out of man’s ribs.” “Sounds messy to me.” “Cream and sugar my dear?” Eve poured. Adam stirred. The dog chewed on the controls.

“I've seen the light,” said Jen. Mike looked up, his knees crunched under the desk, arms hugging the wall. “I thought I asked you to switch it off.” “Yeah, but you’ve not seen...” “Don’t want to neither.” Rain dripped, sea-water sipping the shore. Their dead tree melted in the heat. “It’s beautiful Mike.” “I’m sure it is, but the world was beautiful too, once upon a time.” “So what?” asked Jen. “So turn off the light and save some energy. Maybe one day the world’ll be lovely again.” “Like me?” Mike hugged her tight and they turned out the light.

Katie found it hard learning to tell time. “Look at the numbers,” her mother would say. “Clockwise. The hand goes from one to two…” But Katie didn’t see why the hands couldn’t turn the other way—why “before” always had to be so inexorably different from “after.” Her grandfather gave her his watch when she was seven—silver, finely engraved, and labeled with Roman numerals. But they buried him today, the late great astrophysicist. Katie watches her children play, and turns the metal hands back year by year… till two seven-year-olds stand, building castles to the stars, seventy-seven years ago.

They say children forget, but I remember eyes gummed like fire, scents of washing, or spring in my nose, with knives underneath. The yellow when I saw it wasn’t sunshine, wasn’t my room. No strength, I couldn’t look round, wondered why was I hurt. Flesh lay still, dumbly opposing my will while dampness on my stomach spread the smell. I shouted help and babies cried. My tongue sucked, pressed on teeth that weren’t there. Then I was lifted, airborne, rag doll flopping, held under my arms. Eyes struggled to focus. Ears heard a whispering voice, “Poor baby.” I can’t forget.

The space-ship was flying too close to the black hole. Observers gathered round. Mission Control were calling, “Pull back, pull back,” but the ship didn’t turn. “What’s wrong with them?” “We’re cutting it fine,” said the First Officer. “Very fine.” “Just go with the plan.” Captain Nemo leaned over his screen; he’d never seen such glory. Science officers gawped at data, space at its rawest frontier. “Cutting it too fine maybe sir.” “Okay, we’ll turn around now.” But forever and forever and forever they’re turning still, and it’s always now. The observers sighed, “Too late,” and called for further volunteers.