"We are mosaics - pieces of light, love, history, stars -- glued together with magic and music and words.”
-- Anita Krishan



Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Dreams of Ships

When she was small, she dreamed of ships.

Tall, lumbering ships that forged the Ice Seas, with tattered masts and wind-swept sails, like scars borne from a great tale. She listened to the stories her Da told her, the sea monsters who reared their heads and stirred up storms, swallowing the sailors with a gulp. She dreamed of the open seas under the starlit skies, with nothing but the moon and the hum of the wind to guide her. She dreamed of the glint of a sword, the tang of the salty air.

Ships were the first of many dreams. As soon as she could read, she disappeared into the library for days on an end, carrying a hand-bound book of once-blank pages. She came out with a head full of tales, a tongue full of forbidden words, and hands blotted with ink from the pen.

She was a hero. An oathbreaker, a fatebender. She dreamed of an isle to claim.

She whispered the stories to her brother, who laughed at her and told her to stitch, and to her Ma, who gently smiled and told her to tighten her laces.

She saw the lumbering sailors on the docks, with rough hands and scurvied teeth, and saw in their eyes the battle scars and jubilant song of adventure, and she smiled to herself. But the ribbons and bodices squeezed her insides, trapping her like a cage, and now her Da pulled her away.

Maybe she wasn’t meant for the seas.

 So she turned her head from the sailors’ docks and walked on.

They layered silks on her, beautiful ruffles of taffeta and chiffon. They rubbed rose oil and powder into her skin and painted her lips. They led her to parties, lessons, where they smothered her blasphemous wit with a soft voice and a yielding manner.

She dreams of a prince to carry her away.

Once vivid, now her dreams are now delicate, muted. She carries the spirit of a fierce romantic, a blazing spirit, but the world has worn her around the edges and tamed a fury, bent her and shaped her, surrounded her like the diamonds around her pale, creamy neck.

Once in a while, she still sees the ships from her childhood. But only from afar.   

-Christina








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