Beneath The Height Of Land

Beyond the windblown Height of Land
An equally windblown town
Off Route 17 running north to Quebec
Reached by rutted road
Neglected by county and state
The town has no name on a map
The few score of inhabitants call it Dogtown
There are no dogs
Nor knowledge of dogs
Under the Height of Land___

The town more a clearing
Worn weary by long and harsh winters The houses and shops and church bear witness
To the cold, snow, ice, sleet, slush, and blizzards
There is no global warming here
There is no summer
Under the Height of Land__

This is the true North
Beyond stretches the Deep North
To the Arctic
Only two seasons
The season of preparing for wintah and Wintah__

The towns people, young and old, walk like the dead
They are not dead
They live
Sad, frightened, unattached to the modern world
No cable TV
No cell phones
No Internet.
They are where they are
Dogtown
Surrounded by swamps
Under the Height of Land__

A battered Ford pick-up creeps along the rutted street
A young man behind the wheel
He parks before the church
He gets out of the car
A letter in his hand__

An old man rakes the church lawn
The young man lifts the letter
Written by a beloved grandmother
He reads the name
Out loud__
His aunt
Met once
Twenty years ago
At her brother's funeral
Outside Portland
On Falmouth Foresides
On the harbor
Far from the Height of Land____

White blonde hair, translucent skin, thin as a corpse
Moving like a goddess reincarnated from the grave
Her finger touched his face
Fingers colder than ice.
Her silver blue eyes on Portland
Like it had once belonged to her__

No smell of the sea
In Dogtown
Surrounded by the vapor of swamps
The young man says his aunt's name
Elyssas Commons
The man points to a house
Across the dirt road
A big house
Desperate for paint
The lawn a jungle
A Benz rusting on its axles
Its last ride
A long time ago__

The old man returns to raking
The young man walks to the porch
The weight of his foot
Answered by a creak
The outer walls
Caked with ashen dust
Unsullied by wind or rain or sleet
No one has been here in a long time.
A knock on the door
Nothing
He calls her name__

Elyssas__

Whispers of footsteps
The door opens
Her aunt smiles with yellowed teeth
Her gossamer gown reveals magic
She has not aged a day
She
Maybe a child
Maybe a crone
A beckoning finger
Skin and bone___

He steps inside
The house a mausoleum
Her bare feet
Pad on dust turned to powder.
The veil hides nothing
Skin white as Virgin vanilla ice cream
High hipbones

A concave belly
A protruding pelvis rod
Pancake breasts
Stiff cigartip nipples
His aunt a wraith
Skin and bones
Driven by
Desire of the wanton__

"Where's your husband?"
"Dead," his aunt whispered in the voice of a forgotten movie star. "Does it matter?"
"No."
She takes his hand
Leads him upstairs
There are no lights
More and more shadows
They are both alive
Also both ghosts__

Inside a bedroom
He hands her the letter
She puts it on a table
Next to a bed
Sheets smell of dead flowers and her flesh of the grave
Earthy.
His aunt parts her gown
His hand pressed against her groin
Wet
Her gash
Fevered
Unlike her cool skin
She lies back
Sighs
Legs apart
He
Enters
Her
She take him
Lost
Lost
Lost
Thrust into his aunt
His mother's sister.
Again
Again
Again
No words
Grunts and groans
Finish with a gasp
Again
Again
Again
Her bones creak with need
More
More
More
Under the Height of Land____

Small people bring food
Wine
Water
They wordlessly worship her
The young man only fucks her
More
More
More
He sleeps
She never
His body surrendered to hers
Day
Night
Day Night
Fucking
Naked
Always
His skin
Raw
Tattered by her nails
There is no nos.
She a demon
He a willing victim
Lust savage godless lust
Elyssas adn he her slave
His mistress
Under the Height of Land__

On the third midnight
He wakes to chanting
Then a scream
Firelight in the window
Red flames flickers through the cracked walls He crosses the room__

Outside
Elyssas
Naked
Dancing around a blaze
With the dwarves
Naked With her husband
Naked
Not dead
Not alive
Like Elyssas___

No desire to run
He is one of them
Them
Sharing the same wicked blood.

His grandother's letter untouched on the floor.

Later
Elyssas lifts her head
Semen dripping from her lips.
A knife gleams in the candlelight
The blade traces runes on his skin
She wants him to cry
To feel his pain
To bury him under surrender
The point cuts deep
He does not cry
He does not surrender
He is he
No longer belonging to she

A right to her head
Elyssas topples from the bed
Knife on the floor
Grabs his clothes and the letter.
He does not run
Not from her__

From the house
Across the tortured garden
Past the fire
The dwarves
His uncle
To the pick-up
Naked

The F 150 starts
His foot revs the V6
His eyes on the second floor
Elyssas at the window
With with her husband
Wraiths
His blood
The dwarves grab at the door.
Drive
The wheels thump over small bodies
He'll have to wash the pick up later__

At Route 17
The young man opens the letter
One word
Shaky script
'Family'__

Over his shoulder.
Only darkness
No one in the rearview mirror.
Only darkness.
His foot stamps on the gas.
Away from the Height of Land And Elyssas
And family
No one waits at his destination
New York
And that's a good thing
Sometimes.
Having no one is a good thing
Especially under the Height of Land__