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MIKE MORAN
WRITING * PERFORMING * RANTING * TEACHING

  
from "Jacob's Breath"

Should he let go? Didn't his father let go?

But where was his father now? The greenish roll of clouds overhead held a threat of storms. Where was his father now? His father had let go of the earth, of his home, of Jacob's mother. And me, thought Jacob. He let go of me. And his mother held tight to her pharoah promises and withered into muttering loss, and the house became a narrow chamber to be avoided. And Jacob ran with friends who beat him and laughed, teaching him that this--this abuse, this rage, this hatred--is what it means to be a man. And Jacob ran with them and learned to strike back and spit and torture, but he hated it, too, and didn't want to believe. But where was his father now?

There was a slight rustle of leaves and again Jacob felt his tree move him out over hard ground and dark asphalt. He looked down through the branches, thinking for a moment that he would see his mother down there at the base, crying and holding her apron to her mouth. And thinking also that his friends would be gathered there, even Marvie, muttering in astonishment and pointing up, up, up to where Jacob held the breeze in one fist and held tight to this great maple with the other, like Pecos Bill riding the cyclone.

But there was no one there. He rode this wind alone.

Love to you all.

~Moran
The Ninth Circle