The Secret Table- Excerpt

The voices do not come to me. They have never come to me. Once I lay in bed and a trembling started. It was like the joy of the images only without me. It started through me and I began to rise. There I hovered above the floor, the spring beginning to bubble in me but I was afraid. I would not let go.

The rope swayed in my hand. I would go up. Never return to that prison of bone, tissue, below. I could look down on the strange body of a boy, his legs akimbo on the bed. Yet where …

The moment passed and I settled down upon my form again.

So they are dumb but now the spring under my tent is dry too. She lays here, a heavy clod of flesh, obstructing through entrance, egress of all that stirring. Am I to search inside her for gates, doors? I tried, I swear, I tried. There was nothing there, a blind tunnel, blocked up.

Yes, she can draw from me something palpable, an embryo, a secret that grows, swells in her, but me?

I hold the seed within myself. At night, I generate.