The Boy of Joy
Here stood a boy of joy. Of playful temperament and positive thoughts. His laughter was a release, his smile a balm. Children and women alike were drawn to him. The children only wanted to bask, to borrow from his light, but the women wanted to take. They wanted to stand as women of joy, longed for their own playful temperaments and positive thoughts.
They squeezed the boy of joy, kissed and hugged him, anything to own that part of him that was warm and content. Probed and prodded, searched and sought - gentle at first, in reverence, and then in desperation as the imagined transfusions of joy faltered and failed. Why did it not take? What was he doing wrong?
They darkened him, lengthened his shadows. And with a final angry breath, the boy of joy was gone.
They squeezed the boy of joy, kissed and hugged him, anything to own that part of him that was warm and content. Probed and prodded, searched and sought - gentle at first, in reverence, and then in desperation as the imagined transfusions of joy faltered and failed. Why did it not take? What was he doing wrong?
They darkened him, lengthened his shadows. And with a final angry breath, the boy of joy was gone.
posted by shannon at 1:56 AM
2 Comments:
A wonderful, elegiac piece that reminds me of Wilde’s The Nightingale and the Rose. I love the way that the expansiveness of your writing gradually contracts to reflect the boy’s diminishing light. You can almost hear the pop as his light finally goes out.
I found this piece very poignant and moving. I like the fact that the 'boy' could be someone old or young. He kind of represents every 'boy' you could ever love, son, brother, father, grandfather, lover. I like the fact that it is an open critical space for the reader to imagine the 'boy' they want to see in their thoughts.
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