The Pearl Bracelet

 

The Pearl Bracelet

•

“What do you mean,” Gwen implored, the strain obvious in her weary voice. “Who exactly is pursuing Derek … and why?”

Her voice trailed off to an exasperated whisper. The why was not so much a question, as a deep sigh of frustration. She seemed to know the answer was much too complicated to address at this hour, and she was too spent, physically and emotionally, to want to hear it.

Gwen turned away from Zack, head lowered. Her arms fell limp at her side, fingers splayed. She was trying her best to process what Zack was saying, to understand him –to understand the recent events that had brought her to this place in time … to make sense of anything. Her head was spinning, and she could feel the fatigue deep in her bones.

She dropped back onto the sofa, half sitting, half lying down – an exhausted slouch. She felt paralyzed, thoughts racing through her mind – fragmented, disconnected thoughts.

She looked at her hands, palms down in her lap, her eyes glazing over. Her vision drifted to the floor. Slowly it came into focus, there, next to her feet. She realized she was staring at the Baroda’s, with their broken clasp. She had dropped the bracelet when she’d collapsed.

Ever since Derek had purchased these beautiful antique pearls at Christie’s auction, giving them to her on their anniversary, her life had turned upside down – and also turned a corner. Fate had pushed her round that corner, and she would never turn back again. Her life as Mrs. Galesport was over.

She knew this, knew it as surely as she knew she missed her children. Something must be done to get them out of that house – his house. It could no longer be her home, but they would always be her children – and she feared for them. They had to be part of whatever direction fate was leading her.

It was fate that had broken the diamond-encrusted clasp – fate, and her quick reflexes, blocking Derek with her forearm as he struck out at her in anger, following their anniversary dinner.

He had apologized, explaining it away as the result of stress. “It will never happen again,” he’d said in his most gentle and sincere voice – but she was familiar with this empty promise. This was not the first time, and the incidents of abuse were escalating.

She’d only come into his office that evening to thank him again for the gorgeous gift. She’d assumed this was where he’d retired after leaving the dining table. But she could see, in the subdued light, that he was not there. The mahogany paneled room was empty.

She loved the aroma of his Classic Port pipe tobacco that permeated the walls. Her father had also smoked that blend in his Barling Meerschaum, and the heady fragrance was comforting to her – so she lingered. That’s when she noticed it, on his desk, silhouetted by the light from the Tiffany lamp.

Her curiosity drew her to it. She’d just picked it up when Derek entered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put that god damned box down,” he’d shouted — then flew into a rage.

Why had her discovery of the leather box sent Derek over the edge? What were those letters that spilled out when she dropped the box upon being struck?

They’d looked terribly official, with their seals and embossing – and written in a language that she did not recognize. Derek certainly scrambled frantically to collect them from the antique Persian rug, and return them to the box. But she managed to conceal one, sliding it under her hips as she lay where she’d fallen after being struck.

Derek’s bizarre reaction to the correspondence scattered on the floor, and the strangeness of the language they contained, had piqued Gwen’s interest. Instinct drove her to hide the envelope until she was able to fold and slip it into her pocket, as her husband hurried from the room, with the leather box in tow.

Gwen felt it was important that she take this letter she’d spirited out of the room, and put it in safekeeping. She’d planned to somehow learn more about its origin and content.

It was again fate that lead her the next morning to Tiffany’s, seeking repair of her damaged bracelet. It was while standing at the counter, waiting to be served, that she’d spied Derek coming out of the restaurant across the street, in the company of a woman — a stranger to Gwen. They had climbed into a waiting limousine.

Gwen had bolted from the counter, and through the door to get a better look. Unfortunately, as she’d reached the sidewalk and acquired a reasonable view of the vehicle, it sped away. She had noticed markings on the door, and a license plate, a type she had not immediately recognized – but she could read neither.

Fate had presented her with this tangled mystery, but what was she to do. How could she begin to unravel it? All this was flooding through her mind when she was startled back to the present by Zack, returning to the room with pillows and a blanket.

“I will take the sofa tonight,” he said, “You’re completely burned out. I’m putting you in my room,” he continued in a kind and caring tone. “My bed is amazingly comfortable, and you need sleep – lots of good, deep sleep.”

He reached down and took Gwen’s hand, helping her to her feet. Gently wrapping his arm around her waist, he escorted her down the hall and into his room. Stopping just inside the door, he said, “You will be safe in here. We’ll talk about everything in the morning,” and he gave her a warm hug, stepped back into the hall, and closed the door.

Gwen realized there were too many questions to answer, too many mysteries — just too damned much to even think about right now.

“Yes, in the morning,” she mumbled to the door.

Then, hugging her shoulder bag with the mysterious envelope tucked safely inside, Gwen shuffled across the room and collapsed on the bed.

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

 

A moment

 

A Moment

____

a clearing
of filtered sunlight

high breezes whisper

nature murmurs
serenely

a downed Douglas slumbers

snug in the moist embrace
of a moss blanket

a heady pleasance

life is aligned
for a moment

____

rob kistner © 2008

 

Stranger

 

 

Stranger

____

this day
as I journey
I come upon a stranger
standing by the road
looking sad

heavy box
held in his arms
clutched close to his breast

he stares
expressionless
into my eyes

his gaze stops me still
fixes me in place

his face is tired
and drawn
etched in withered worry

when at last I move
I draw near
as I do

close enough to see
this sullen man
is me

he offers out his hands
that open on the box

he beckons me retrieve
this container he protects

filled with apprehension

I reach
and grasp the case

lift it cautiously from his grip

lay it gently at my feet

it opens
as I do

slowly

to reveal
its haunting
strange contents

seven broken hearts

mute with wonder
I behold

confused
yet riveted

I ponder
as I do

then inquire of the meaning

these are yours
I am told

created by your deeds

cruelly left behind
as you ventured on

once
they each belonged
to one who trusted you

each trust you did betray
without a second thought

each love you tossed aside

abandoned carelessly

now the burden of this box
is mine beyond the grave

it was on a road like this
that it was passed to me

I have carried it too long

I am weary from the load

now you must bend and lift
and clutch it to your breast
to struggle with its weight

until you pass it on

someday
a stranger will approach
over that horizon

he will stop
and stare
transfixed by your presence

you will charge him with this chest

then he will lift
and carry
as I do

in a cycle of forever

for he too
will be you

____

rob kistner © 2008

_____________________

collage above entitled: “Heavy Box” — by: rob kistner © 2008

 

Tears of the Ancients

 

 

Tears of the Ancients

•

the bones
of nature’s rivers
borne away
on strands
stained
with the ghosts
of salmon

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

_____________________

photo above entitled: “Drawing Lines in the Sky” — by: Martin Kingsley

• • •

…inspired by the hydro-electric dams choking the mighty Pacific Northwest rivers
and by read write image #3, found at “readwritepoem”.

 

Dawn

 

Dawn

•

I gaze
through gossamer curtain’s fall
at a mirrored reflection
in a waking dream

hallucination
of a polarized reality

dual worlds
close enough to touch

through which truth
stumbles blind

beyond reach

walking as a wraith
moving in these worlds

captive to the bonewhite lie
implicit in the toxic grin
of inflexible conformity

lethal tradition
revered in mindless trance

change

shackled to the stone of fear
a grip rough as rope

change

bound
at the shadowed edge
of dark and light
ignorance and knowledge

change

beckon the dawn
summon the morn

there is far to go
and much to learn
rising from this night

someone needs release the light

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

 

Drawn

 

Drawn

•

seduced by the fog
I seek the mystery
it enshrouds

always just ahead
round the bend
over the hill

behind the heavy gate

my ears prick
to its distant call
just beyond clarity

my heart longs

my soul is drawn
to the unknown
down the path
around the curve
over the crest
into the mist

where
shut away

the clarion awaits

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

Poems of the heart…

 

Following here you will find a whimsical poem entitled “Heartbreaker”, and humorous haiku entitled “The Color of Love”, each inspired by this Kyknoord illustration, which is offered as a visual prompt at “readwritepoem”.

 

Heartbreaker

•

this is a broken heart you see
this broken heart belongs to me
it once was vital whole and strong
‘till one day beauty came along

she reached in and stole my heart
but fickle beauty did depart
she’d found a better heart she said
and left mine hanging by a thread

my heart grew heavy with her farewell
my heart-thread snapped and down it fell
my fragile heart crashed to the ground
pieces shattered all around

I’ve tried hard to make it whole again
but I’m not sure how, and can’t say when
so it’s still a broken heart you see
a broken heart that belongs to me

• • •

 

The Color of Love

A HAIKU

•

May, the month of love

red, the color of love — yikes

I’m touching my heart

• • •

“Heartbreaker” and “The Color of Love” written by: rob kistner © 2008