NHT's Writing Desk

Recognition


A couple had come to the house - 
young, seeking - 
at first.
                 We offer hospitality and invite them in.

Without warning, a sudden discomfort descends on me
from the hiding,  hooded one,
who retreats behind her traveling companion...
It is again without the slightest warning 
that I am then on full alert,
no reason why,
but undeniable is the instinct primal.

                  Her reserve does not beguile me.

                                 'You do not belong here," i hear myself saying.

She says nothing, though from the hooded shadows, 
the gaze of two eyes flash like lasers to my own,
and yet I am unfazed.

                                  "You do not belong here," I repeat.

My children, astonished, bewildered, embarassed, 
restrain disapproval with respect, “mom?” 
but their supplication is beyond a great glass wall of unexpectedness,
their voices barely audible, 
where inside, just this visitor and myself are alone
and one to one.
I do not know the whys of how I know,
but there is no mistake.

                                   We are in immediate danger!

A mere single moment passes by in tension
before a quiet hiss curls out from underneath the hood.
My heart jumps smack right into warp speed
with the dreaded knowing!

                                 ...damn! i'm right!

Suddenly we are hand to hand in unforgiving battle ...
our hovering above the ground intensifying speed and violence.
Growls cut through concentrated silence which is mine ...
patchy whizzing energy whistles past my ears.
Easily deflecting blows incoming,
I willingly submit to an unseen puppet Master of the string,
dodging,
bobbing,
twisting,
yet standing firmly anchored
like a buoy in an ocean storm.

A gleeful child delights detachedly from a distant shore:
I did not know that I could do such things!!

My daughters, aghast, witness, wordless at the ferocity of combat
as the fight alights itself again on solid ground -
my fingers find, then circle, fragile neck bones,
pressuring deep against them evenly.

Intention visualizes disentangled spirits -
i call forth the force of sound -
and out of decibels quite beyond my comprehension,
a dire warning crawls up into my throat 
and forms a bellow somewhere 
between a yelling and a scream: 

                 “YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS HERE!"

Vocalized vibrations reach the mark of their intention -
and the hooded figure morphs
into suspect adversary
who,
confused,
disappears in a swirl of faded glitter settling

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