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published
in Scintilla
11
Event Horizons
The
day seems full of worm holes
linking
different dimensions
through
unexpected moments.
A
stag beetle on the pavement
helped
to the shelter of the hedge
brings
back childhood fingers,
fascinated
by the minute clutch
of
feet across an open palm
lifting
them to the soft down
of
the wrist, daring antlers to close;
and
the sun-drenched laurel hedge,
a
deep green hideout, with an old
carpet
for comfort, candle-ends
and
a few forbidden matches.
This
time no war keeps Dad away; nor
does
he ride the motor-cycle that killed him.
The
six red tower cranes today swing
across
vapour trails’ random geometry,
playing
Pythagoras, and Mr. Samuel,
he
of the darkened jowl, draws
triangles
with squares on two sides
and
the hypotenuse, a word
that
lingers in another world
to
be the name of a cat taking
the
shortest distance between table
and
flower-stand, or the ladder
against
a tower, Rapunzle winding
in
her hair as the window cleaner climbs.
Our
friendly radiographer brings
our
files to take downstairs,
‘Elekta
1 & 4 are idle’. ‘Get fell in!’
says
Dai, and I’m back drilling my squad
in
Kure, on a bright, cold morning, my first
command
as hesitant as my stripe
is
fresh on my arm. Our stencilled kit bags
in
the paintshop are waiting with our names
to
be taken with us in a week’s time, boarding
the
‘Orwell’ on our way home. This time
I
stay in Japan, find a different maturity.
Elekta
1 is an obvious oldie,
the
room gloomy, the ceiling picture
a
blue-tacked poster of flowering cherry;
no
warning bleeps, no mouth for ‘smiley’,
its
eyes seeming to interrogate darkly,
and
the music is country western:
‘You’re
the nearest thing to heaven,
yes
you are’. As particles put paid
to
cancer cells heaven seems pretty close,
lying
flat and suddenly whisked to a hilltop
in
the Cotswolds, high cloud, sunlight
and
gleaming spires; one of bright green
copper
we always looked for first,
my
cousins and I, before counting the rest
down
there in Cheltenham. Then we’d walk
to
Devil’s Chimney, later make our way
home
when we were tired. It was
the
nearest thing to heaven. Yes, it was.
Ted Walter
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