Dance of the Unforgotten
From the rooftop of the clocktower,
Lorna could see the dead, floating above the village.
The promise of nightfall calmed her mind,
as the slate shingles pressed cool against her bare feet.
The small world below her was a regret:
a place no longer in love with itself.
An hour before, she had been in her room—
making last preparations for the journey;
the ropes, the fuel, the balloon.
She stepped to the edge.
The bell tolled. The rain came. The starlings took flight—
circling once about her, then vanishing into the night.
Her father, stumbling under a streetlamp,
was the only soul to see Lorna step off the peak.
She fell slowly,
gently swaying above him,
while he argued with the shadows.
As she turned the dial, the burner flashed to life,
warming the air in the balloon tethered to her harness.
As she rose, she called back,
“I’m off to find Mama—
and I pray that I’ll never return.”
◆
In the time of first troubles,
when the dogs fled to the forest,
a great disease descended,
and the dead could no longer rest in the earth.
Their rot was toxic.
Now balloons carried the departed skyward,
to the edge of space, where two small rocket candles fired
and ferried them into orbit—
to join the dance of the unforgotten.
Each evening brought a graveyard of twinkling cadavers.
Those at home blew a kiss or raised a glass.
Others wept from their doorways.
◆
Soon,
Lorna would join them—
to be with her dead mother,
and spend the rest of forever beside her in the sky.
On through the gloaming, Lorna ascended—
beyond the reach of heavy things.
As she sipped on the oxygen straw,
the rocket candles ignited.
The earth let go its humble hold.
With the hush of fading fire,
she entered the stillness between worlds.
Lorna drifted among her ancestors
and could see their faces again.
The last light behind closed eyes.
Uncle Marley, one arm ‘round his cow.
Great-Granma QueenieBelle, tiny legs in purple boots.
Oliver— just a child, with no place to play.
She asked them about her mother,
but only dust drooled an answer.
Breathing the last of the oxygen,
her mind unfastened.
“Mama? I’m here—
Mama?”
The bits of space about her stirred,
and silently settled on her face.
She could taste them as they entered her mouth
and made their way into her thoughts.
Lorna turned through time.
She felt her body dissolve,
then recompose itself—
again,
and yet again—
trying to find the right moment…
and finally coming to rest on a stone sidewalk,
just as a boy on a tricycle rolled up beside her.
◆
“Hi Lorna.
I’ve been waiting.
Want to ride with me? I’m going too.”
The child was mostly transparent,
and dressed as the captain of a ship.
“Are you also dead?” she asked.
“We are all dead up here, Lorna,
but you’ve not forgotten—
and that seems to matter a great deal.”
“Hold on, Lorna—
I know where you’re going.”
Trees blossomed,
and houses built themselves
as they rolled along.
At the end of the sidewalk,
she heard her childhood home whispering—
“Loor-naah…”
The curtains waved from the attic windows.
The wooden steps bowed beneath her feet,
and the scent of shucked corn and snapped peas
rose to meet her as she climbed onto the porch.
A familiar lilt poured from the other side of the door.
She turned the knob—and walked in.
◆
They were all there,
gathered around the oak table sharing stories—
the plain talk of work, the weather, plans for supper.
Dogs at their feet, dream-hunting by the fire.
Her mother dropped her teacup and fell to the floor.
“No, no, no…
Why? Why are you here, Lorna?”
Her voice was shelter, and Lorna wished to hide—
wrapped in her lap.
“Oh, Lorna—this won’t do.
It’s a damn bone-yard up here—
and your blood still ripe and red.”
“I’ve come to be here with you, Mama.
There’s nothing left to love…”
Her mother gathered each word
in the empty teacup and tossed them into the fire.
“Nothing left?—
but Lornabelle, the dancing is about to begin!”
With the first notes of the fiddle,
her Nana appeared, slowly spinning from the rafters—
elbows poking through cobwebs,
draped like lace.
Bumpa stood on the table,
adjusted his bow tie, and kissed the mandolin.
“This is for you, Lorna.”—
“Honor your partner,
honor this place.
Bow to the elders’
endless embrace.
Hands to heaven,
feet on the floor—
now do-si-do,
do-si-doo
‘round once more.”
They played a tune, old and true.
She stepped the dance he’d taught her.
The house delighted—
rattling her shutters, calling out windows,
“Our Loor-naah is home!”
The captain appeared next to her.
Without the trike, he seemed much older.
He reached for her hand,
“Lovely Lorna, home at last,
it’s so nice you’re here to stay—”
Her mother snapped her fingers between the two.
“Hell no.
She is not.”
◆
“We know of all the days betrayed
So much we couldn’t share together.”
She took her daughter’s hands.
They bowed lightly, and began to twirl—
Nana played the way across the porch,
through the garden and into the street.
They sang together through the night,
and danced together with the rain.
The living, the dead,
hand in hand.
The music found a final chord;
a pale blue note found rest—
and the earth turned…
closer now.
Lorna could hear it—
the faint tolling of a bell.
◆
Bumpa gave Lorna a wink,
“Do you smell… what I smell?—
Because I smell pie!”
They settled around the table, and shared
the honesty of each bite—
until there was no more.
Great-Granma QueenieBelle
nodded off right there in her chair.
She yawned and her teeth escaped.
Chasing the dogs all about the room.
Uncle Marley smiled goodbye,
and floated out the window.
One by two, they curled up and fell asleep,
drifting out windows and up the chimney.
The room was quiet.
Almost gone.
“Mama—I’m ready.”
The furniture and the house were coming apart,
and her mother began sweeping,
singing away what remained:
“Rock-a-bye my child where the angels roam
Goodbye now, darling, ’til we meet once more
It’s time for leaving, it’s time to go home
As I sweep your dear bones out the door.
It’s best now to go, elsewhere to wander
For the air up here suits only a ghost.
Remember it all, madness and wonder
To love what you'll lose may break you the most.
For what remains of us, on earth, in sky?
Our family. Our dance. Your next pumpkin pie.”
She opened the screen door,
set the broom on her daughter’s rump,
and swept her back into the night.
◆
Falling, with the rain…
into the wings of a thousand starlings.
They encircled her—
and delivered her back home.
Into the gravity of the living.
And this was where Lorna found herself—
once again on the roof of the clocktower,
cast out of heaven by her own mother.
The rain became the snow.
She looked above and opened her arms,
hoping to be consumed.
A quickening rose beneath her.
Brushing away the flakes,
she found a tiny creature—
trembling,
its wings curled like fists.
She tore her dress
and swaddled the little one,
holding him against her chest…
so he might hear her breathing,
and feel her heart beating.