INNOCENTIA
He felt trapped in his flat, so took a walk outside, Crossing the enclosed parking lot and through the open gate, he noticed how under the outside lights he cast a long shadow.
The automatic gates opened briskly, releasing him, cramped soul and all, into the street, He glanced briefly upward at the stars, but felt nothing stellar or cosmic — not really in his nature to entertain thoughts metaphysical,
It was heading up to eight and a group of last customers were entering the next-door bottle-store. From across the road a slim, relatively attractive lady of the night was attempting to inform him of the night’s special deals on her price list. Just the basic menu, but for special tastes there would no doubt be a slightly more expensive range of specialities. She had grabbed his attention by smiling, exchanging the time of day and checking for the typical male gaze that would confirm the possibility they might indeed be on the same page.
Ah, Innocentia! Is that not one of the cardinal, Catholic Christian virtues. The original innocence for which the then Pope had praised the troublesome monk Francis, practically defining him to all the Cardinals, that not only was he henceforth to be considered politically untouchable, but that the safest way to deal with him might well be to sanctify him as Saint.
So strange that she should bear this name and have to live with all the contradictions it posed in this line of business, though the Magdalene had shown definitively during the Saviour’s time, that redemption can never be believed forgone.
From his point of view however, it was not an issue of desire and its potential satisfaction, but that for a manageable amount of Rands he might allow himself to be shepherded, however momentarily, and with huge deception, be shepherded into a world less staid, controlled, inhibited, and less depressingly certain than his own. Who knows? Perhaps it would not leave a sour sad taste, disillusionment, self-recrimination. Perhaps this slice of life is last on offer for a very long time.
The moment passed as moments do. Things seemed to find their sense of balance again, however wobbly, Whatever god of chaos had set this up might have been thinking of something deep-rooted, a change transformative, even alchemical,
The bottle-store closes. The gate closes. He returns back to his flat. The world is the same. His soul, who knows?, perhaps still safe.
Or maybe not and we should not be quick to simply assume so. For no back inside than he gave the incident an instant re-write.
For who but an Innocentia could lead him off that straight and narrow path, eclipse all doubt with total Sun and Moon and light mirrored everywhere across that bedroom, and bed around which her whole world orbits. and touch as soft unexpectedly as silk spider’s web?
And door opening to a vast underworld. Follow there and who knows where that voyage ends. Who even knows how it begins?
poems 2 die for 