The Tale of The Queen of Hearts
Visions of Mary
Mary became the center of our stay in the town, we’d never time our stays in any village, in any place at all, it was our version of freedom and it was the only reason Mary became anything at all. She was exceptional in ways we didn’t completely understand, we saw her as a silent, sad smile that said more with a sight of her eyes, than in any other way. I yet can’t see how she became of such importance, in some twisted way, she was our kid, our, in the other she was our lover, our separate lover.
As we sat in our inner circle, she’d play tricks when she tried to be quiet, so much like the night. However unusual it was that we became her friends? Lovers? Mother? Father? It was a common sort of mad, her subtle words and contact, it was all so common and yet so wild. Why did we even approach her?
We got into her life without any justification, in her room, the room of a little lady, as well as in her yard, catching handfuls of rain. Everything diluted by old country music, folk and Woody Guthrie playing soft coughs through the stereo, still a stereo and everything occurred with us as both audience and artists. And I knew, I knew that she wanted you, she looked at you the way I did, and every time we’d speak of a farewell kiss to me or to her, everything would swirl into visions of Mary and whoever she was.
As we sat in our inner circle, she’d play tricks when she tried to be quiet, so much like the night. However unusual it was that we became her friends? Lovers? Mother? Father? It was a common sort of mad, her subtle words and contact, it was all so common and yet so wild. Why did we even approach her?
We got into her life without any justification, in her room, the room of a little lady, as well as in her yard, catching handfuls of rain. Everything diluted by old country music, folk and Woody Guthrie playing soft coughs through the stereo, still a stereo and everything occurred with us as both audience and artists. And I knew, I knew that she wanted you, she looked at you the way I did, and every time we’d speak of a farewell kiss to me or to her, everything would swirl into visions of Mary and whoever she was.