The Lightning Dreamer (14 page)

 

Weighed down by my visions
of an unhappy future, I wander
through the maze of caves,
with only a small candle
to light my way.

 

One chamber resembles a palace
carved from sapphires
and diamonds.

 

In another chamber,
ancient people left bright
red and black paintings
of frogs and birds
on water-smoothed walls.

 

In some chambers, jagged crystals
are shaped like heads and hands,
as if spirits
had turned to stone.

 

Beyond the eleventh chamber,
no one has ever ventured.
It is said to be the jaw
of hell.

 

I peer into the gloom, then turn
and make my way back outdoors,
to a sunlit moment
of decision.

 

I will ask Tula to marry the man
who is loved by Carlota, leaving
my sweetheart free to remember
that she once loved me.

No brilliant playwright
could ever have imagined
a more ironic
and devastating scene.

 

Just after I realize that I've fallen
in love with Sab, he asks me
to marry
someone else.

 

My answer will have to shatter
his scarred heart
along with my broken one.

 

If it's true—as the old storyteller
promises—that souls can rise and soar
in dreams, then I must be a night-flying
bird with clipped wings. Will I ever
be brave enough to sing
in sunlight?

Tula has refused to marry
the man on the spirited horse.

 

She calls my request horrible,
insisting that marriage
without love
is just one more
twisted
form
of slavery.

 

She is right.
I am human.

We carry our tangled emotions
to the storyteller, whose age gives
the wisdom of experience,
but in place of clear advice,
Sab's godmother gives us
a parable, a story
about a house filled
with mirrors.

 

By the time her tale ends,
Sab and I both understand
that we are living reflections
of each other's
freedom dreams.

When I asked Tula to marry
the gallant gentleman,
I imagined that she loved
no one,
but my godmother's tale
of mirrors
helps me see that Tula
loves me
and I have been
cruel,
just as Carlota is cruel
to me.

Love is as tricky as a wall
of mirrors that make
narrow hallways
seem open
and wide.

 

Sab is startled when I invite him
to marry me, but I must admit
that I am not completely
surprised
by how readily
he refuses me.

 

His devotion to a childhood love
is as much a part of his goodness
as the courage that sent him
running through flames
to save
a burning child.

If I could love Tula,
I would.

 

But love
is a wildly
unpredictable
hurricane wind,
not a swirling
blue ocean
with peaceful
shores.

There was a time
just a few hours ago
when I felt breathless
with hope
for a future with Sab,
but now I feel smothered
by grief.

 

I miss the company
of orphans.

 

No one else has ever seen me
as I really am—an outcast,
a wanderer, condemned
to explore
the unknown world
of human emotions . . .

We remain friends,
close companions.

 

Tula and I agree
that we will never grow bitter,
never see each other as enemies.

 

If I could have a sister,
I would choose Tula.

 

If I could plant a garden
with wings, the feathers
would be her wandering
words.

I long for love's joy
for myself, but I also wish for Sab's
true happiness, even though
it means that he will find joy
with someone else.

 

So, while he dreams
of a thousand ways
to change Carlota's
rigid mind,
I dream
of a million ways
to change my own
stubborn heart.