Other Publications

• "Support Ukraine", Moonstone Arts Center, May 1, 2022
• "Rags and Dolls", Paper Dragon, Volume 2, May 26, 2021
• "Phantom Limb", Philadelphia Stories, March 18, 2019

Neshaminy

I see no detail on the crow
I’m sure he sees my eyes
That only see his dark silhouette against a blaze of blue
A painter’s brush undipped in pastels
Sun and clouds have smeared behind him.Caw-caw, he breaks his shadow pose
Caw-cawing stiffly twice
He beckons to another to join him on his silver perch
A lamp planted in the black meadow
Here in this steaming parking lot.One faces east the other west
Searching their bleak domain
Hungry for dead things, while the thieving gulls from the sea hover
Far above, steal the higher vision
For meager meals that wait below.In my black coat, in my black car
I wait beneath a pole
The fake totem of Neshaminy Mall, plastic mock of myth
The crow’s orange cartoon beak hanging
Over the face of Eagle, Bear.Neshaminy Neshaminy
My voice still drums the name
I sing the ancient name and beat the drum of Neshaminy
Call the spirit of the hill to rise
Above the mantel of its grave.On the black skin that coats the hill
And silences the drum
I wait for Crow – Tell me where the spirit of the hill has fled –
I study Crow’s flight like a shaman
Searching the sky, reading his runes.Crows begin their dark ritual
Pierce the air with their beaks
Caw-cawing stiffly twice, twice again, they chant the ancient name
In their tongue, “Neshaminy, Caw-Caw,
Where, where have the fish people gone?”Creek flows I do not hear her voice
Fish swim and are not trapped
By Lenni Lenape. Do they come along the tidal marsh
Still salted by the green Atlantic,
Her gift, one hundred miles away?Over the land, over the creek
The cloud of Europe spread
Its Anglo names: Eddington, Logan, Gibbs; while the Lenape
Receded into Pennsylvania
And fled along the veil of tears.Their blood runs thin in names they left
Behind – no drums, no fish
Just Neshaminy. While on this hill mortician crows complain
Of the human tide that swept over
And covered the land with their flood.

• Read the essay “Where We Go To Drink”

F.X. Baird
Copyright © 2009
 
Originally published in the Schuylkill Valley Journal, Volume 28, Spring 2009
 
Nominated for Pushcart Prize

Rags and Dolls

Our daughter rips old shirts into rags
at her mother’s request; busy work.You would never know this woman
was a wild thing, danced nights intodays, now poster mom of completed
tasks, keeping mortality at bay; or thevirus. It could be something more
mundane, time to think or feel. Weare using the pandemic to begin death
cleaning the house, save the childrenfrom sorting through attic memories.
Stepping over a boundary, there sinceour daughter’s childhood, she asks,
(oh, no), “What about the Barbies?”

 
F.X. Baird
Copyright © 2021
 
Originally published in Paper Dragon, Volume 2, May 26, 2021

Phantom Limb

I trash the bird feeder,
scatter the seeds away from the house.
As the exterminator predicted,
the scratching in the crawl space disappears.The birds return for days,
fly around and land on the grass,
stare up into the empty space,
like lost migrants, then disappear.My son calls from his chaos.
Once again I am drawn
to hover around his sadness,
as if I still could care.This time, when I return,
something in me is missing.

 
F.X. Baird
Copyright © 2019
 
Originally published in Philadelphia Stories, March 18, 2019

Where We Go To Drink

F.X. Baird’s poem “Neshaminy” was first published in the Spring 2009 Edition of SVJ and later appeared in the June 2009 issue of the Lenape Nation Newsletter. “Neshaminy” was nominated for a 2009 Pushcart Prize.

The clans of the Lenni Lenape Nation are the Native Americans who inhabited the lands that stretched from the Hudson Valley to the Delaware Bay when European settlers came to these areas of the eastern shores of the “New World” in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. By “Nation” is meant a language group, and the Lenni Lenape were part of the Algonquin language group. Within the Algonquin-speaking group of nations, the Lenni Lenape were revered as the elders, literally “grandfathers,” and were often consulted as peacemakers to settle disputes between “tribes” or nations. Indeed, the word Lenape means “man” (as in mankind) or “the people,” and Lenni is the Lenape word meaning “original” as well as “genuine,” “pure,” “real,” and “true.” And so, they saw themselves as the true people, and the other Algonquin groups considered them the elders, the original people, and sought their counsel as such.…And there is the unique waterway, Neshaminy Creek, so named because of its two (nesha or nisa) bends where the Lenni Lenape trapped fish. The Neshaminy is a tidal estuary that sits at sea level and so the creek rises and falls with the tides of the Atlantic Ocean over one hundred miles to the east. The Lenni Lenape used this natural phenomenon by placing low wooden gates in the creek. At high tide, fish would swim over the gate and when the tide went back out would be trapped behind in the shallow waters, making it easier to spear them.

• Read the full essay “Where we go to drink”

Music

“Queens of the Nile” performed by Little Stranger written by John Shields & Fran Baird

Where We Go To Drink

By F.X. Baird 

The clans of the Lenni Lenape Nation are the Native Americans who inhabited the lands that stretched from the Hudson Valley to the Delaware Bay when European settlers came to these areas of the eastern shores of the “New World” in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. By “Nation” is meant a language group, and the Lenni Lenape were part of the Algonquin language group. Within the Algonquin-speaking group of nations, the Lenni Lenape were revered as the elders, literally “grandfathers,” and were often consulted as peacemakers to settle disputes between “tribes” or nations. Indeed, the word Lenape means “man” (as in mankind) or “the people,” and Lenni is the Lenape word meaning “original” as well as “genuine,” “pure,” “real,” and “true.” And so, they saw themselves as the true people, and the other Algonquin groups considered them the elders, the original people, and sought their counsel as such.As was the case throughout the North, South, and Central American continent lands, the Lenni Lenape’s encounters with the European settlers proved to be disastrous. Disease and war wiped out many and the nation, who were misnamed by the settlers “Delaware Indians,” and many were driven west, some settling near Pittsburgh, others migrating to Ohio and Oklahoma. Much later in the mid-nineteenth century, the “Delaware Lenape” purchased land from the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma and settled there. The Lenni Lenape that remained in the Eastern Pennsylvania and New Jersey regions were never recognized as “tribes” by the U.S. Government and, over the course of many centuries, they “disappeared” into the landscape that was their home, where they once roamed freely, hunting, fishing, and farming.While the people seemed to disappear, their presence remained alive through their language, the Unami dialect in the southern regions (the Delaware Valley, Pennsylvania, southern New Jersey, and the Delaware Bay), the Munsee dialect in the north (the Hudson Valley, New York, and northern New Jersey. Their presence lived on in the names they gave to the land, the rivers and creeks, the marshes and swamps that identified this land. In the southern regions, the connection they made between the land and water is evidenced in the many place names that still identify this region known today as the “Delaware Valley.”Water is the elixir of life. It is easy to see why civilizations have developed and thrived along the rivers of the world and near the seas and oceans; for without water there is no life, and no civilization. So it was here, in the land that would become known as “Penn’s Woods,” that the convergence of two rivers, the Delaware, and it’s largest tributary, the Schuylkill, would define the land providing game, irrigation, and transportation that first supported the Lenni Lenape Nation, and then became the keystone in the building of another nation that would overshadow them.But not even the Dutch (Schuylkill) or English (Delaware) or Latinized (Pennsylvania) place names imposed by the Europeans completely obliterated the original monikers bestowed on rivers and streams and settlements by the Lenni Lenape. While Ganshohawanee, one of their names for the Schuylkill River that means “rushing and roaring waters,” its other name, Manaiunk, “the place where we go to drink,” still survives as the name of one of the neighborhoods that is nestled on the banks of this river. Ironically it is the name of the Manayunk Art Center, the physical home of the Schuylkill Valley Journal. Any school child or adult who has ever tried to correctly spell “Schuylkill” without the assistance of the Internet or a brochure, might welcome a renaming of the scenic waterway.Many of the tributaries of the Schuylkill, however, retained the Lenni Lenape heritage in their names: Tulpehocken (turtle land) Creek joins the Schuylkill west of Reading, Wissahickon (catfish stream) Creek joins the river in Chestnut Hill/Mount Airy, Manatawny (where we drank liquor; even today a winery is located nearby that bears the name) Creek joins the Schuylkill at Pottstown, and the Perkiomen (where there are cranberries) Creek joins the river near Audubon. Other tributaries, Little SchuylkillRiver, Maiden and French Creeks, have not retained their original names, although the Lenni lenape name for French Creek was probably “Winingus,” their word for mink, the animal living along its banks when the Indians first lived there (For a fascinating history of this area read “The Course of French Creek’s History” by Jonathan E. Helmreich, Professor of History from Allegheny College, which includes a discussion of the origin of the English word “buffalo,” a corruption of the French phrase “boeuf a l’eau” (water cattle).The river that most defines the region and sets many of its geographic boundaries, the Delaware, was simply called the Lenapewihittuk, the River of the Lenape, by the Nation. In a strange, odd twist, after the white settlers renamed the river, the river’s new name became the name by which the white man identified the Lenni Lenape.But a host of other names bear witness (if the reader will excuse the pun) to the Lenni Lenape connection to the land, the waterways, and the numerous animals (now equally scattered and gone) that kept them alive and thriving. The names are familiar to all of us who live in the area. They carry the sound and the soul of the “original people” who lived here, and even identify and describe a teeming landscape that has disappeared along with many of the “elders.” Places like: Aramingo, which means wolf walk; Conshohocken, pleasant valley; Lackawanna, forks of a stream; Macungie, feeding place of bears; Mauch Chunk, bear mountain (the town that is now called Jim Thorpe after the famous Olympian who lived there, whose paternal and maternal grandparents were Mesquakie/Asakiwaki and Potawatoni Indians not Lenni Lenape, tribes that were also Algonquin-language groups); Moselem, trout stream; Pocono, a stream between two mountains; and Skippack, wet land; to name a few (see A History of the Indian Villages and Place Names in Pennsylvania by Dr. George P. Donehoo).And there is the unique waterway, Neshaminy Creek, so named because of its two (nesha or nisa) bends where the Lenni Lenape trapped fish. The Neshaminy is a tidal estuary that sits at sea level and so the creek rises and falls with the tides of the Atlantic Ocean over one hundred miles to the east. The Lenni Lenape used this natural phenomenon by placing low wooden gates in the creek. At high tide, fish would swim over the gate and when the tide went back out would be trapped behind in the shallow waters, making it easier to spear them.As a boy growing up in Mount Airy, the Wissahickon was an exotic destination. It was almost a right of passage to go there, a sign that you were growing up when you were old enough that your parents would allow you to walk there and play in the woods. We were ten or twelve when we first went there, walking from out of our neighborhoods on either side of Germantown Avenue, with a packed lunch (for we would be gone all day), down the hill on Cresheim Road to the dead-end at Cresheim Valley Drive; looked both ways, and crossed the drive into “the Wissy.” It was a year ‘round trip; frozen winters saw us ice skating on the lowest of “Three Ponds” about a two-mile walk in from the drive. In summer, the more adventurous would swim in “Devil’s Pool” further along. I remember distinctly feeling the “spirit of the place” as I padded along the trails with my friends, a feeling that has never left me. Little did I know then that the spirit of the Lenni Lenape, the original people, dwelled in the creeks and streams and rivers and woods where they once lived, and where their spirit remains in the names they left behind. It was this spirit that I felt as a young boy, it is this spirit that has stayed with me throughout my life and that I hope will remain with me forever.I want to thank Chief Robert Red Hawk Ruth for sharing his knowledge with me that helped me to accurately write and correctly research this article.I would encourage readers to visit the local Lenni Lenape web site, The Root. And I would encourage all to visit the exhibition of Lenni Lenape culture and heritage at the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology located at 3260 South Street in Philadelphia, PA 19104.Waneshi (Lenni Lenape farewell)

 
 
 
Copyright © 2010, F.X. Baird
 
Essay for Schuylkill Valley Journal, Volume 30, Spring 2010F.X. Baird’s poem "Neshaminy" was first published in the Spring 2009 Edition of SVJ and later appeared in the June 2009 issue of the Lenape Nation Newsletter. “Neshaminy” was nominated for a 2009 Pushcart Prize. 

Events

The Phoenix Poetry Workshop

In 2017, Fran began a poetry workshop at the State Correctional Institution at Graterford, Pennsylvania (now Phoenix Prison) which he conducts via email since the pandemic. The workshop now includes women and men from other state institutions. Poetry of workshop participants has been published in the Schuylkill Valley Journal (Fall, 2017 V45) and at Drexel University’s Paper Dragon e-zine in 2021.He is compiling an anthology of poems from the workshop, supporting and directing the editing with incarcerated and recently released participants.

• Read poems from The Phoenix Poetry Workshop

Music

“Queens of the Nile” performed by Little Stranger written by John Shields & Fran Baird

Tomas, the twin

An excerpt from the novel by F.X. Baird
 

He found himself in an enormous room standing before an octagonal dais supported at each cardinal point by eight short columns half the height of a man. Each pair of columns that supported an edge of the octagon was a matched set of animal heads. The columns facing Yehudah were eagles. He could discern the profile of an elephant on the left, and that of a bull on the right. He could not see the pair of figures in the back. The columns were polished jade as was the dais. A man with a pointed beard sat in the middle of the dais on a pillow in a lotus position. Yehudah assumed this was Kujula.Yehudah studied the face of the Kushan prince. The high cheek bones made him look like a Greek aristocrat, the straight, aquiline nose was that of a Roman centurion. But his eyes, his eyes revealed Kujula’s ancestry to Yehudah. The Kushan prince had the eyes of a Yuezhi nomad. The two stared at each other for a long space of time before Kujula broke the silence. “You are not from here,” he said.“Is anyone?” Yehudah replied.The guard beside him slapped him in the face with the back of his hand. The guards standing beside the dais glared at the merchant, each lifting his sword slightly out of its scabbard. Yehudah’s eyes, out of focus from the blow, followed the sound of metal sliding smoothly over metal, aware suddenly how bold his innocent statement had been. He was not used to dealing directly with royals, except for Gondophares, who was more like a father to him and invited his familiarity. He realized too late that he spoke to everyone as an equal.He expected another blow and was relieved to see Kujula’s hand raised slightly in a gesture of restraint. The swords slid back into their scabbards, the guard beside him lowered his hand. Rather than refrain from speaking further, Kujula’s gesture emboldened Yehudah. He was in the presence of the prince of the Kushans, the ruler who could end his life at any moment. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain by being bold. He needed to return to the kingdom alive but with information that might save the realm and the ones he loved. Boldness was the only path to take.He continued. “The ancient ones are either gone or have fled south and east, driven there by the Sakas and now your people, the Yuezhi. And you all fled the Greeks or Persians, or were absorbed by them, and now you fight the Romans. No one is left who is,” he paused and looked at each of the guards who stood on either side of the dais, noted the almond shape of their eyes as they glared at him, before returning his gaze to Kujula and continued, “from here, as you say.”A smile slowly spread across the face of the prince. “You are wise for a merchant,” he said. “And bold,” he added, with a hint of menace.Yehudah fell silent. Now, he would either live or die at the whim of Kujula Kadphises.Behind him, Yehudah heard a rustle of movement but he dared not turn around. He noticed that Kujula had stopped staring at him and was intent on the sound of the steps echoing in the chamber made by whoever was now approaching the dais.A robed figure passed Yehudah. It was the official who received the soldiers who brought him to the palace and who directed the guard to tie the blindfold over his eyes. The official stopped at the foot of the dais and bowed and Kujula motioned him forward as soon as he raised his head.Kujula spoke. “Bring them in,” he said, staring at Yehudah. With that, the official clapped his hands loudly, and there was more movement behind Yehudah. This time, however, he could not restrain himself from turning around to see who was being brought before Kujula, and what connection it was to him.At first, he wasn’t sure what he saw. A soldier, with the bearing of a leader, a captain, led a procession followed by slaves bearing two stretchers, four slaves at each stretcher, one at each corner, carrying shrouded bodies, followed by, could it be!, Arun and Zuura, each with their arms stretched over a pole that extended from side to side under their armpits, their hands bound to the poles, held at each end by a slave, with three armed soldiers behind Arun and Zuura each, their swords unsheathed. Blood ran down the side of Zuura’s face from a gash on his brow over his left eye. Arun walked with a limp, blood and dirt covering his right calf. Zuura walked as if this parade was in his honor. He smiled at Yehudah when their eyes met. Yehudah was stunned.The official stepped away from the dais and directed the soldiers to lay the stretchers to the side. He motioned to the guards to bring Zuura up to where he stood. Yehudah watched Zuura being led to the dais where the official stood and did not see Kujula motion to his guards who came up on either side of Yehudah, each grasping him by the arms, and walked him with deliberate force to stand beside Zuura. They did not release him.Kujula’s voice filled the room. “Who is this?” The question was asked of Yehudah but it was Zuura who answered.“I am Zuura, General of the Army of the Emperor, Gondophares.” The official standing next to him slapped Zuura with the back of his hand, a carved ring drawing blood from the general’s lip.“You are not to speak!” the official squeaked in a high-pitched voice.Zuura spat in the official’s face and before the other man could gain his composure, the general shouted like a trumpet blast into the surprised face of the official with the authority that he wore like a suit of armor. “I will decide when to speak!”Kujula rose in one smooth motion and stepped down from the dais, holding onto the extended hand of a guard, and came to face Zuura. Gondophares’ general was an imposing man but Kujula stood before him, eye to eye. The prince’s stature was concealed as he sat in the lotus position on the dais but now, standing face to face with Zuura, it was as if Kujula were standing before a looking glass, more slender but still a reflection. “Remove his bonds.” The guards sheathed their swords and moved swiftly, pushing the slaves out of the way and sliding the pole from beneath the general’s armpits, one slicing the leather binding around Zuura’s wrists with a dagger that emerged from nowhere and disappeared as quickly. Kujula stepped away from Zuura and turned to Yehudah. “Come, merchant,” and the Kushan prince added as he walked toward the stretchers, “if that is what you are.”Kujula motioned to the official to lift the shroud that covered the first body. Yehudah gasped when he saw the face of Durga. Kujula was not surprised by Yehudah’s reaction. He suspected that the merchant knew who these bodies belonged to, who they used to be when they breathed life. But the prince was surprised that this first body was that of a woman; a woman, he observed, dressed as a soldier, a woman the merchant knew from his reaction. “Come, merchant, who is this?” Yehudah regained the steps he had lost when he gasped and gazed down at Durga. In death she looked peaceful; her lidded eyes like two round stones resting on the shore of a great lake. In death she was Amrita once again, immortal, beyond the grasp of death. He almost expected her to open those huge eyes and rise. Tears came to his eyes.“Speak,” Kujula shouted, “I have no time for tears.”Yehudah swallowed hard. “This was, this is Am-, Am-” he stammered, “Amrita,” he managed to say through his tears. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked at Kujula who was glaring at him. “Princess Amrita, Gondophares’ daughter.”It was Kujula’s turn to be surprised. He took a step back and let his mouth hang open, staring at the woman’s face, returning his gaze to stare at Yehudah, this time in disbelief. “What?” he asked.Not waiting for an answer, he spun around and shouted at Zuura’s back. “General, come here.” Zuura complied. “What is the meaning of this? And,” he bent down and flung the sheet from the next body revealing Yashas, “who is this?”Zuura started to say something to Yehudah, something of comfort, but Kujula cut him off. “You will speak to me, general.” Zuura turned to face the prince, placed his feet wide in a military stance, and snapped his head back. Before Zuura could utter a word, Kujula added. “And spare me your deceit; and I may spare your life.”Kujula looked at Yehudah. “Why would the king order the slaying of his own daughter to protect a merchant?” The question was asked of no one and hung in the air for a brief moment.“Gondophares is like a father to me. And …,” – he paused, for he knew his next words could either save their lives or doom them – “I am like a beloved son, a son lost to him in death.” Yehudah’s eyes never left Kujula’s face. In the long silence that followed, Yehudah hoped that he might find some way, some words that might spare all of their lives.Kujula’s commanding voice pierced his thoughts. “Merchant,” he began, then quickly amended; “spy,” the prince flung the word across the dais and it smacked Yehudah in the face with its force. “Return to your king and come here no more or I will end your life.” He turned to Zuura. “Take these bodies back to Gondophares. We will meet again on the battlefield.” He stood up, looked down from the dais, and addressed the soldier he had whispered to at length. “Captain,” he said, “escort them to within a bow shot of the enemy’s line on the Eastern border. Wait until they are received by their own and send word back to me. Stay and prepare for war.”He turned to Yehudah. “Now, spy, you have the information for which you came. Tell Gondophares, it will be of no advantage to have it. And, it has cost him his daughter’s life.” With that, he stepped down from the dais and left the room through a portal behind the throne. All waited until the prince was out of sight. The official clapped his hands and everyone moved, soldier, guard and slave, as if they knew exactly what was expected of them.

• Interested in publishing or representing "Tomas"?

Water Dancer In Dry Riverbed

An excerpt from the novel by F.X. Baird 

Preamble

AwakeRiver of her handsFlows into the dawning skyPause painting the dawnThe sword of the sun slashesThe clouds of my eyesAwake!

Waka attributed to Ono Otsū the first time she saw Izumo no Okuni rehearsing in the Shijōgawara (Fourth Street Dry Riverbed) of the Kamo River in Kyoto, circa 1603 CE.

Chapter One

Bird song penetrated Okuni’s dream. In the dream, she was a tree, her roots exposed in a dry riverbed. Her eyes were two knots at the top of the trunk where branches separated like shoulders and extended out into arms, at first parallel to the riverbed, then rising gracefully toward the sky. With great effort, Okuni twisted her trunk so that her eyes could look in the direction from which the high-pitched song floated on the breeze. There, at the end of her left branch, sat the most ordinary bird, a dull grey body mounted by a black head. Its black beak was open and from its throat there came the most beautiful melody, repeating itself over and over, but appearing to change each time, a subtle change, as if the same note were being played by a different instrument. From a hole in the side of her trunk Okuni felt an itch and from the hole emerged three small bird heads, one by one, their black heads coated with grey down feathers that were lifted up and floated on the breeze and were caught in the tangle of Okuni’s branches above. The tiny birds took up the song their mother was singing and, one by one, they added a phrase that seemed to be of their own making.While the birds sang to each other, the itch that Okuni first felt in the hole on the side of what was now her head where her ears would be, began to descend all along her trunk and into her roots. The tingling itch freed her roots from the dry riverbed and Okuni lifted her roots, which were now feet, and began to dance, very slowly, gracefully, along the riverbed.The girl woke from her dream into the misty morning.She was always the first to awaken, even before Eastern sky revealed any hint of light, and before her father stoked the fires of his forge and her father’s sister lit the cooking fires. At first, she thought she might still be in the dream, for she heard the bird’s song from the dream outside the open window. There, on the branch of the cherry tree surrounded by pink blossoms, the same gray and black bird from her dream was perched with beak open, singing into the morning mist. Mist and bird song drifted through the open window and caressed Okuni’s cheeks and ears. She smiled.From the mists of memory, from as long ago as she could remember, Okuni’s dreams flowed into her waking life like water and she herself flowed into everything that surrounded her; all the sounds of nature flowed into her ears and everything she touched left their tears upon her fingertips. The light from deep within all things bled their colors into her eyes and from her eyes, color flowed into her heart. She breathed deeply and long and her chest filled with all that she saw and heard and touched in this moment.The first note from the shrine bell drifted in through the window, a thin high pitch vibration that penetrated her meditation and tickled Okuni’s ears and circled her head like a small bird. The smile faded from her face as the low metal note of the second bell carried it away. I will be late again, Okuni thought.Once again, the one instructing her in the ways of the miko would not be pleased. As the first note repeated, Okuni was making her way across the yard to the shrine.

真名

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Vast

An excerpt from the short story by F.X. Baird 

“Ah, Cheezar, finally you are here!” It was Yanghee who spoke, a touch of annoyance not lost on those gathered. “I mean no disrespect, Ancient One. To wait for you would be my honor. But this one,” he almost spat the words as he turned his gaze on Shaunyou. “His mother has informed me that we waited for him.”Without any hint of emotion in his voice, Cheezar said, “Yes, I asked her to wait for Shaunyou’s return from Skommu.”“Skommu!” Yanghee forced the word out of his mouth through pursed lips as if he were spitting out a rotting loggia root. “Ommu is enough; Skommu is a useless waste of time.” Delopaia spread her lips in an approving grin and bowed her head in response. Xauyou’s tail twitched nervously then rested. He knew that his son would find Yanghee’s words a challenge, almost a blasphemy.Shaunyou instinctively raised his tail and let it fall, slowly, segment by segment, until it rested firmly at a right angle from his body. Thus balanced, he rocked unperceptively back on his heels, a warrior’s loading gesture. Yanghee noticed this, as did Cheezar. “Shaunyou!” Cheezar admonished, saying only the name.“That is right, Old One, to stop the foolish adept’s posturing,” Yanghee hissed. “I would welcome a good fight.” He turned his gaze to Shaunyou. “But you mistake what I say, youngling. Like most adepts, you think action defines the Yandar’s approach to our incarnate day. It is not action that defines me, it is right thinking. We use Ommu to orient our thinking and focus it into right action, not to get lost in Skommu or flirt with the Skomm. Our approach allows action, right action. But right action comes from right thought.”At the very moment his final word left Yanghee’s lips, Shaunyou’s claw opened by its own reflexive movement into The Bondeen gesture and his tale unloaded with the force of a sling ship’s propulsion. For those present, Shaunyou’s body moved in a blur of slow motion. He stopped within a scale’s width of Yanghee’s chest cavity, shaping the force of his movement around the Yandar’s body with his other claw, an advanced gesture even for an adept. And then within the blur of movement in which Cheezar was the only witness, Shaunyou snapped his tail in the air in front of Yanghee’s left eye and left an explosion of light in the shape of a ja hanging in the air before retreating to his pre-loaded position.Shaunyou looked in the face of each one who was present. Xauyou’s and Delopaia’s mouths hung open in startled disbelief; Yanghee’s eyes were closed, staring at the afterimage of the ja that had exploded in front of him, his lips pulled back baring his teeth in a gesture of extreme discomfort; and Cheezar met Shaunyou’s gaze with a penetrating stare trying to gauge the depth of what he had just witnessed. A growl escaped Yanghee’s grimace and he pulled his lips forcibly back to cover the rows of his teeth, trying to hide his display of discomfort, as he blinked his eyes open again and again. His tail had risen of itself but, as he regained his composure, he let his tail drop to an unloaded position.Shaunyou, noticing this, relaxed his own posture and, without smiling, addressed the elder Yandar. “And you, Yanghee, like most Yandar, believe that Skommu is some idle diversion from what you deem important, the business of existence, mistaking the skree state for some weakness or vulnerability.” Here he paused, raised his tail and lowered it into the warrior pose, this time quickly as if he were on the battlefield of some legendary war. The display of skill was not lost on the once-skillful military leader. Yanghee bowed, acknowledging the level of skill he had just witnessed, some of which was still a blur, much of which he still could not believe he had witnessed.“Enough posturing,” Cheezar admonished; the young adept and the elder Yandar each knowing that the Saraswathi addressed them both equally. Each bowed and sat back on the base of their tails.Xauyou left the room and returned quickly. The shadows streaming in through the windows and doors open to the swamps surrounding the estate hadn’t moved. “The other guests have arrived,” he announced.

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Stolen Stars

An excerpt from the short story by F.X. Baird 

It was a glorious day. The inner lid sheath slid over Supelta’s enormous eye as he lifted his stalk to gaze into the brightness of the twin suns that dominated the morning sky. The ammonia clouds above the nitrogen sea had fled to the northern reaches allowing the distant warmth of the faint glow to enter the moist membrane and descend down the stalk and into the storage chamber of Supelta’s brain. Absorbing light was Supelta’s favorite thing to do.A dark shaft appeared in the sky above the suns and slowly descended toward the orbs. Supelta had never seen anything like this and watched with intense interest as the shadow divided and each shaft of darkness melting towards the stars. The shafts covered the suns and Supelta’s eye froze open. As his brain stalk shattered, Sepulta’s world was flung into the void left by the disappearance of the suns.

*

Timone Timae leaped from his bed. He started to run before he realized he was awaking from another dream. He stubbed his toe against the door to the bathroom. That woke him completely.Damn.For a thief who had never been caught, Timone’s dreams of running from the authorities always disturbed him deeply. For days afterwards he looked over his shoulders, convinced his dream was a premonition and that his luck would soon run out.He dropped the ruby and gold dusted trousers of his pajamas and sat down on the toilet to relieve himself, a habit left over from his first marriage, my first and last Timone repeated silently to himself, a daily mantra that formed the bookends of his day. He would never again trade the freedom of being alone for the convenience of frequent sex that was all too infrequent, and never that satisfying.As he shook the last drops of urine from his penis and wiped himself, Timone was aware of how much he had changed in that regard. Sex was all-consuming when he was a younger man but now, well into his eighties, his libido was definitely in the backseat of the limousine that was driving his life. The trouble was, he had no clue who or what was in the front seat, let alone who was the driving the car. It wasn’t him, he knew this deep in his brain, and each time the metaphor of the limo drove up from the depths of the unconscious that spawned it, he became aware, once again, that he still didn’t know what seat he occupied in the long and luxurious automobile. For all he knew, he was dead in the trunk.Timone washed his hands at the sink, let the electrostat dry them, and strolled to the kitchen where the aroma of coffee filled the air. The sound of the morning news grew in volume as he poured his first cup.In intergalactic news, the twin sun system of the Melorphian Galaxy suddenly disappeared.

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Terri & Di

A one-act play in 3 scenes.

 
Scene One
[Empty stage. Di enters from stage right, walks almost to
center stage and stops. Terri enters from stage left, looking
around, a little bewildered. She stops just before center
stage. Soft lighting gets slowly brighter as each character
enters the stage.]
 
Di
Mother! [Softly, Terri does not hear her.] Mother! [Louder but Terri still does not hear her.]
[Terri looks around, checking out the surroundings. Di watches
her and begins musing to herself so that the audience can hear.]
 
Di
She’s not here yet. She can’t hear me. She still clings to life as if she isn’t finished.[Terri looks back, off stage, from where she came, reaches
out tentatively, as if longing to return, but ambivalent. She turns
back and gestures toward Terri.]
 
Di
See, she thinks of returning. Oh Mother, I thought you already had two feet in heaven. Is life so precious, are there more wounds to bind, more babies to cradle, that you would forsake the face of your God, delay the moment you so longed for – you, His most precious bride – would you deny this long-awaited moment to even glance back at your life and want it back?[Terri slowly withdraws her hand, and slowly turns
toward center stage.]
 
Di
Oh Mother! [Softly] Mother! [Slightly louder].
 
[Di hangs her head after these words. Terri begins to notice
her, walks slowly over to her, looks at her from back, holds
out both arms and hands near Di’s shoulders, as if she is going
to touch her, but hesitates. She lowers her hands, steps back,
pauses, then slaps Di on the back. Di is startled and propelled
forward toward audience. Terri makes two fists and puts them
on her hips before delivering the next line.]
 
Terri
Sweet Jesus, Di, I knew I’d find you here! You long blonde drink of water; I knew you would wait for me! [Leans back, a broad smile on her face.]
 
Di
[Straightens herself, smoothes skirt.] Mother [stiffly] --- Mother! [Affectionately]
 
Terri
Jesus, Di, can’t you say anything more than mother? [She walks to Di, sticks hand out to shake.] Listen, Princess, let’s drop the formalities, shall we? Call me Terri. --- That’s Terri, with an “i.”[Terri looks around again, walks, regards stage.
Di watches with amusement. Terri gets a puzzled
and disappointed look; finally looks out at audience.]
 
Terri
So --- this is heaven?
[Di brings hand to mouth to hide giggle.]
 
Di
Oh, Mother …
[Terri whips around, glares at Di who is startled but amused.]
 
Di
Sorry, moth --- I mean, Terri. [Di makes fists, places on hips mimicking.] Terri! --- That will take some getting used to. [Walks over to Terri, the two embrace.] Oh Terri, I’ve been waiting for you.
 
Terri
So, this is heaven?
[Di laughs out loud.]
 
Di
No, no, Mo --- There I go again. Terri --- with an “i.” No, Terri … [Turns, walks away, looks out over the audience, smile fades.] No --- this is definitely not heaven.
[Di stares out into audience; Terri begins to smile,
walks over to Di, puts arm around Di’s shoulder.]
 
Terri
Hey, Princess, lighten up a little.
[Di shrugs off embrace, moves away.]
 
Di
Di will do! --- That’s Di --- [Faces Terri] with an “i.”
 
Terri
OK, Prince… Di! [Walks further away, looks out over audience.] So, this isn’t heaven. What is it then? Or --- where is it then?
[Music starts, “Where or When” instrumental; Terri
and Di look around in response to the music.]
 
Terri
That’s corny --- Cut! [Music stops.] So --- where, when, or --- what?
 
Di
[Mood lightened with music.] Oh, it has several names; the way station, the tower, limbo, purgatory … [Terri puts hand over her heart. Di laughs.] Now it’s my turn to say it. Relax, Terri --- they’re all wrong. --- Some even mistake it for heaven. [Walks away.] That writer said it best --- what was his name? --- Free man? --- No --- Freed-man? Friedman! That’s it, Friedman --- Bruce Jay. [Turns to Terri] It’s like a sauna.
 
Terri
Sauna? --- Sauna? --- Where’s the steam, where’s the tub, where are the towels?
 
Di
[Laughs] This is off-Broadway, Terri --- way off! --- But I was wrong; you’re right. It’s not a sauna, more like a steam bath.
 
Terri
[Claps her hands, does a little jig.] Hot diggity, girl, bring on the pool boys! --- I still don’t see no steam!
 
Di
Any steam. Relax, girl! [Walks away.] Thank God there’s none of that here! I’m so relieved that’s finally over!
 
Terri
[Crosses to her.] Well, you may be glad --- but it’s been a couple of lifetimes since --- Well, you know.
 
Di
Yes, well, you didn’t miss much! [Walks away.] Anyway, get used to it, there’s none of that --- steam --- OR BOYS, here.
[Terri crosses, stands in back of Di.]
 
Terri
Get used to it? What’s that supposed to mean? --- [No response from Di.] Say, what’s going on? You seem to know a lot more than you’re letting go. How come? --- Come on, Di, what’s up? We were friends, remember At least I thought we were friends. What’s going on? What isthis place and what do you know?
[Still no response; Terri reaches spins Di around,
deliberately. Di makes move to walk away but
Terri holds her there.]
 
Terri
No, Di, don’t walk away. [Reaches up to move Di’s face to look at her.] You’ve been here longer than me. You …
 
Di
Five days, Terri, just five days!
 
Terri
[Looks around.] Five days? --- that’s a lifetime here, I gather. [Releases Di’s face.] Five days, and then she partied on the weekend. [Di winces.] You know something Di, what is it? Spill the beans, tell me what you know!
 
Di
That was cruel!
 
Terri
What?
 
Di
That crack about the weekend.
 
Terri
Oh, that! --- I didn’t mean anything by it, it just --- slipped out. Besides, don’t change the subject. What’s up with this place --- [looks around] --- this heaven that ain’t no heaven.
[They look at each other; Di turns and walks away.
She stands with back to Terri then turns to face her.]
 
Di
I don’t know, Mother. [Terri winces.] Oh, alright, Terri. --- There are things that I know and way more things that I don’t know. --- The one thing I do know, now that you’ve arrived, is that you’re going on --- [She looks stage left.] --- and I’m --- I’m going back.
[Long pause, Di looks down, then up.]
 
Terri
Going on? From here? [Di nods.] --- And you --- you’re going back? --- Back to what?
 
Di
A life, I suppose.
[Terri walks over to Di.]
 
Terri
How do you know this?
 
Di
[Hesitates before saying] I don’t know how I know, I just do.
 
Terri
Was Jesus here? [Looks around.] Did he come to you here? Did he tell you this?
[Di shakes head no.]
 
Terri
God! Was it God? [Getting more excited; looks away, doesn’t see Di shake head no.] Oh God, listen to me! [Looks back at Di.] Was He here? Did He tell you directly?
[Di shakes her head again, no.]
 
Terri
She? Is He a She? [Turns before Di shakes head, makes a fist and gives an “alright!” gesture.] I knew it! I knew He was a She! How could it be otherwise? Men! What do they know? Men, with their bloodlust and body lust and thirst for destruction! What do they know of life, creation? Men! Their disregard for life is so obvious, so ubiquitous; the world over, in all places, all times! How could God be a man? They wouldn’t even know where to hunt if it wasn’t for us! --- [Touching and caressing her breasts and womb.] The womb, the breast, the Giver of Life! This is creation, this is life giving, life sustaining, life affirming! Woman cares, nurtures, cries, protects. What do men know of this but what we teach them with our lives, our blood? [Walks away, turns around, walks quickly back.] I knew She was God!
[Di looks at Terri a long time, places both hands
on Terri’s cheeks, cupping her face in her hands.]
 
Di
I don’t know, Terri. She, he, or it. I don’t know. No one came to me here, except you. No Jesus, no She God, or He God, no saint, angel, or Buddha, for that matter. It’s just --- just something I know. [Releases Terri’s face, walks away, turns.] All I know is that you go on, I assume to heaven, whatever that is, and --- and I, well, I go back --- to another life I suppose .
[Long pause, Terri stares at Di, Di stares out above audience.
Terri looks upstage, back at Di, out above audience, copying
Di’s look, but on the opposite side of the stage.]
 
Di
But --- there is something else.
 
Terri
[Crosses quickly to her.] What? What is it, Di?
 
Di
Something needs to happen --- here. [Turns slowly to face Terri.] Something needs to happen, before either of us can move on. -- That’s why we’re here, you and I, together. We … [Turns, looks out over the audience again.] --- We have something to give to each other, something … I’m not sure what it is … before we both can move on.
 
Terri
What? What is it?
[Long pause]
 
Di
I don’t know. [Turns, faces audience.] That’s the trouble --- I just don’t know.
 
Curtain.

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