Post by goldenmyst on May 15, 2019 20:00:06 GMT -6
Death Has No Dominion
She tricked Charon with the ruse of her being a deliverer of souls instead of a passenger to Hades. With the help of Zeus she found a spirit home in a fresh body reunited with me in our childhood neighborhood. Her chicanery brought her to a sunny day on the screen porch her grandfather built for our house.
I unwrapped the package sent by Aphrodite for our gender fencing. Our foil sticks were made of rubber which while harmless proved effective for our battle of the sexes. Under the sun her pink and my blue foils danced to the rhythm of estrogen vs. testosterone. Finally her brother, Faris, stepped through the screen door with a smile of gotcha as we sheathed our sticks. Her family was the Capulets and mine the Montagues in a financial feud in which his father embezzled my Mom’s life savings.
I told him, “Thanks for being our music man.”
His smile grew wider with his words, “Aw come on in.” There his father the arch nemesis of my mother sat on a couch with a look of devil may care. Faris, started playing CDs he’d burned for Marsha and my wedding which he sneaked in hidden in the back pews where he did the soundtrack unbeknownst to my mother. My hug turned her father into a confessed sinner on the road to restoring the venture capital to which he’d defrauded a poor old lady. Faris and Marsha gazed at the impossible made real on a June day when even death holds no dominion.
She tricked Charon with the ruse of her being a deliverer of souls instead of a passenger to Hades. With the help of Zeus she found a spirit home in a fresh body reunited with me in our childhood neighborhood. Her chicanery brought her to a sunny day on the screen porch her grandfather built for our house.
I unwrapped the package sent by Aphrodite for our gender fencing. Our foil sticks were made of rubber which while harmless proved effective for our battle of the sexes. Under the sun her pink and my blue foils danced to the rhythm of estrogen vs. testosterone. Finally her brother, Faris, stepped through the screen door with a smile of gotcha as we sheathed our sticks. Her family was the Capulets and mine the Montagues in a financial feud in which his father embezzled my Mom’s life savings.
I told him, “Thanks for being our music man.”
His smile grew wider with his words, “Aw come on in.” There his father the arch nemesis of my mother sat on a couch with a look of devil may care. Faris, started playing CDs he’d burned for Marsha and my wedding which he sneaked in hidden in the back pews where he did the soundtrack unbeknownst to my mother. My hug turned her father into a confessed sinner on the road to restoring the venture capital to which he’d defrauded a poor old lady. Faris and Marsha gazed at the impossible made real on a June day when even death holds no dominion.
