Immediately after the two brothers entered
The Seafood Shoppe with their wide-eyed wives
and extra-brown complexioned stepchildren,
the shrimp scampi sauce suddenly altered
its taste to bitter dishsoap. It took a moment
to realize the notorious twosome were "carrying"
medicines, and that I was most likely the next
target in the supernatural shooting gallery.
It was yet another stab at my precious
shadow, ne no ke we ni, the one who
always Stands First, wildly unafraid
but vulnerable.

This placement of time, this chance meeting
at Long John Silver's had already been discussed
over the burning flower clusters, approved,
and scheduled for a divine assassination.
What an ideal place to invisibly send forth
a petraglyph thorn to the sensitive
and unsuspecting instep I thought.
Out of fear I had to spit out the masticated
crustacean into the folded Dutch bandana.
I signalled Selene with my eyes:
something is terribly wrong here.

Even in the old stories, ke ta-a ji mo na ni,
my grandmother recited there was always
disagreement, jealousy, and animosity
between supernatural deities. That
actuality for humans, me to se na ni wa ki,
however was everpresent. It didn't conclude
as an impasse that gave us the weather,
the four seasons, the stars, sun, and moon.
Everything that was held together.

Unfortunately,
there could only be one re-creation
of earth. If it was requested in the aura
of the blue flower that I die,
the aura would make sure I die. . .

Later, the invisible thorn--when removed by
resident-physicians (paying back their medical
loans)--would transform into some unidentifiable
protoplasm and continue to hide in the more
sensitive, cancer-attracting parts of the fish-
eater.

In the mythical darkness that would follow
the stories the luminescent mantle of the kerosene
lamp would aptly remind me of stars who cooled
down in pre-arranged peace--to quietly wait
and glow.