Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks January 2015: Ourobouros | Page 18

Lessons In Time
Shane Vaughan
I
t began with the fruit, when she sliced her canines into its pulpy flesh and dripped
red juice down her jaw in bloodlines. He walked with her then. They who had been
one: she crafted from his flesh and his flesh finding its way back to her.
They had a task. Simple, really. To speak words.
Words have great power, he understands that now. The Father spoke the First Word
and created. One day, when he is done saying The First Word all this will be uncreated,
but that is not this time.
She followed the serpent ‘round and ‘round, followed his scaled flow, and he
proffered her the fruit, still with hand then. So she ate, and the seeds settled in her
stomach and she gave birth to the word knowledge. Pain was new to them, and this
pain was even newer still. As if a great space in their heads had suddenly been filled.
It was, of course, the seed of the fruit blooming and filling them. Filling them with
knowledge.
The serpent laughed and chewed on his own tail.

I

II
He hadn’t met her since three lifetimes, but they were old souls and held each other
tight, grasping at shoulders and kissing lightly on the lips.
She said, ‘I’ve had one good life since the last we spoke, and one terribly awful. I
expect this one to pick up soon, but I’ve had forty-four such birthdays and not much
can be said of it as yet.’
She sipped green tea as he speared a brownie.
‘How’s Time?’ he said, eyes diverted.
‘Straight to the point as ever.’ She sighed and lifted a heavy brass clock from her
neck. An iron chain clanked as she placed the clock on the table between them. He
counted eleven Twelves at each node and a singular Thirteen where the Five should
rest. As he stared, Thirteen switched to the north-east quadrant and shimmered there
for a moment, before falling to the Six and, seeming satisfied, paused for a rest.
‘Why does it do that?’ He asked, again.
‘Time is like that,’ she shrugged. ‘It moves in and moves out, doesn’t it? Oscillating,
I suppose you’d say, but then you always had more words than I.’
‘More words, less love.’
She slapped him on the wrist, light now, and playful, but sharp enough to make the
point. ‘Less of that, now,’ she said. ‘Plenty more lives for that sort of business. Plenty
more time.’
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