A piece of constricted writing – 200 words on the topic of bridges or crossings.
And a piece of music to go with it
They say the first step is the hardest, but it wasn’t, nor the second nor the third. each step took him nearer to here, this stepping off, this crossing over.
And now,one foot still scrabbling for purchase on the path that has brought him here, the other poised for the jump off, free flight, another land, finally, to become, what he is not, quite, yet,
looking down at his own body, he is suddenly, unexpectedly 6 years old again, holding his mothers’ hand outside Temples – the butchers shop, transfixed by the window display china cow, who grazes unconcernedly on overly green plastic grass, seeming unaware of the careful markings of its back and flanks – a naming of parts – rump, liver, shank. he stands, while his mother deliberates.
even tonight, he cannot bring himself to touch what should not be there, the thick black lines delineating his body bring comfort, an assurance that all will be righted
he lies, quietly, waiting for dawn and journeys end.
Just before sleep, he buries his face in the virginal white silk panties, chosen months ago for tomorrow’s rebirth.