I don’t know what everyone’s goin’ on about. Not that great to see auras. I mean, they tell you things. You know, in your gut. Like one time, I ran into the field and twirled myself around so fast, I fell. And stars in my skirt flew out, became birds. My Friends! I said, laughing. But you know a cloud, real dark, can sometimes make you wanna hide? The man by the East came over, wobbly above me. Cloud-coat, swinging side to side. Get up! He said, Get up and help me with the horses! I didn’t know who he was then, but sometimes you just gotta do what they say. His boots made puddles. I hopped all the way down the road. I’m a bunny! I’m a bunny! I kept sayin over and over. Couldn’t help myself. I was sweatin’ and laughin’. Just wanted to make a sound. Like the sound was a bubble around me to keep him out.
Here. Stop that hoppin’.
Magic. Drink it.
Will I grow wings?
My bluejay landed on the wire next to my scissor-tale. They’re friends cause they both lost their mama. I know their names cause I got a bird book by my tree.
I kept my eyes on them while I drank.
Taste’s like dirt!
Dirt’s good for ya.
You know what kinda birds those are? I do.
No. You know what kinda horses those are?
That one’s got a broken spirit. That’s what I need you for.
How’d she break it?
Well, some man out in New Mexico ran her to the ground. Won’t let me touch her.
What’s her name?
Don’t got one.
She needs one.
Well go on then. Name her whatever you want. Just make her sing.
I feel funny.
Give me that bottle!
Sadness comes through in the aura. His cloud-coat whistled when he looked at the horses. That’s how I knew he wasn’t gonna eat me.
What’d you do to the horse? I said.
Made her become a bird.
What do you mean?
Wanna see my bird book?
He writes in it.
They’re just scribbles.
No! Words! Isn’t that what you’re lookin’ for?
These are just scribbles. Not words. You write this?
No. He tells me what to write when I dream.
What do you mean?
My body becomes his. Makes me sing.
When was the last time this happened?
Wanna see? You can tell by my skin-blosoms.
Stop starin’ at me! Says the man by the East gate. A barn owl hoots above the beams. You ain’t gone tell nobody. He says, kicks the bottle over. You ain’t gone tell nobody. She’s got hands like a sunset. Damn. Gonna find the woman in her.
This morning you fought for the door to open inside you. Thought you’d find the girl in the field, so she’d speak. But the body is stubborn and you couldn’t come completely.
I’ll write about that journey. I’ll write about touching the self until it sings.
You’re scared to go there, that’s what it is, says the girl with no face.
What the hell do you know? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks.
Why you scared? What’s this about knocking the body about, anyway? You got a plan to dig the voices out or what?
The man by the East gate pulls a on his ear. She’s got a ring to her, he says, watches the mare chew on the fence, eyes wild like a boar.
I got just what you need, he says, walking to the barn.
A blue jay circles in the dirt, throws his body into a ball, shakes.
Broken. Ain’t gonna fly again anyway, he says, steps on its head.
Sometimes I think the sky’s a skull, says the girl in the field.
You ever pull your hair out?
I do, too. Birds make nests from hair.
What do you mean, skin-blossoms?
See? Like auras, but on the skin.
Damn. He did that to you?
If you push on it, it glows. See?
Doesn’t it hurt?