KEEPING SOULS IN A LEDGER
In
the colorful blur of St. Mary’s Square, a message on the clock said, “Know son
the evil and flee thence!” I had been sleepless in SF entering Grant Avenue the
entrance to Chinatown. I lugged my suitcase through the crowded street like an assassin
on a mission. Inside my suitcase is a leather-bound ledger, where I make the infinitesimal
notation of entering a soul. I made a mark “+” if the soul merits recycling and
a mark of “-,” if it should be returned to the fires of Hell.
Mother,
my eyes are pierced by the sunrise between two corporate buildings, and my legs
grow weak.
Mother,
if I transmigrate, how would you know me if I came as to your door as a puppy?
In
the matter of mothers, schizophrenia is allowed. And in the matter of souls
kept in a ledger with their merits and demerits the world keeps a record of harm
done. I am sworn as a notary, and my commission expires when the seas consume
the land. When all is said and done, I was a good clerk in the ethereal realm.
Maybe, Koon, you will become an octopus with a Phd in Physics and Fishy Accounts and you'll keep your many armed accounts in the ocean and keep the sea in order. (Someone has to do it)
ReplyDeletePray tell, am I as murky as your prose?
ReplyDelete