Brown carpets
Brown square carpets
Carpets of…sand? Grass?
One can’t really tell this time of year.

A spot of green
here and there too
Once in awhile…
One can’t really tell from up here.

Different shades of brown
I realise
Laying side by side
and across from each other
A chessboard spread out
as far as the eyes can see
A chessboard perfectly imperfect…

A squiggly line…
A brown squiggly line cutting across the landscape
Water? A river?
A brown river?
Puzzled now…

A moment of clarity
It is a river…
A brown river!
A brown river cutting across the chessboard
How fascinating…

All a distraction
A distraction from the icey wind in my face
Paying attention now
the wind hurts
Scratching at my face it is…
Quite annoying actually

The landscape
The chessboard
It distracts me once more
So beautiful
So peaceful
Matching my state of mind in this moment

The squares and greens
they are growing larger I see
Getting closer than before this means
Not a lot of time now…

Do I reflect?
Do I regret?
Any apologies to extend?
Any memories to consider?
Any last words to deliver?
None that I can think of…

A voice draws me from my mind
I look to my left
Oh thats right
I didn’t make the jump alone!
Silly me…getting lost in thought
Forgetting him beside me
How selfish!

He’s saying something
Trying to tell me something maybe?
I try to listen
There is too much wind…

Out of the corner of my eye
the chessboard is now significantly larger
The squiggly line lies considerably far off to my right
All to my satisfaction.

I listen again
He sounds alarmed
Even desperate
He’s waving his arms too
I wonder why?
Finally I am able to make sense of his words:

I smile…
I should’ve known
I look at him one last time
And he sees
He finally sees…Me
I could’ve sworn he said something else…
Something affectionate
Something corny
Something he could’ve said a long time ago…
Maybe now he regrets?
I grin at the thought
I’m sure he saw…

Finally a burst of red fabric…
And he’s gone.
He’s Gone.

The spots of green…
they’re trees!
The brown square carpets…
they’re grass!
Dry grass swaying in the Harmattan breeze…
I can tell now
So pretty…

I hear my own laughter
proud and vibrant
Sailing in the wind past my ears
Triggered by one hilarious last thought…

What chute?

Maretsuki Marx


Leave a Reply