Of Dust

Of Dust
“Man is dust and to dust he shall return.”

Guilt. I almost fail to feel my hands as they gently wipe the dust from off the surfaces. I am consumed by guilt. The sort of guilt that I’ve in my musings accredited to warships. I imagine how terrible they must feel to smite each other at the command of their masters. 

“Miss Conduct, friend, it is not I! I would never hoist my sails to chase you upon the waters or fire my guns to sink you. My master forces me. He pushes me to ram into you.”

“Ooh Master Baiter! Your own kind you have fought. With stealth you’ve crept upon many of our sisters. How different then shall I be? But know this also, my retaliation is not mine. In defense my masters have chosen to wreck you as you would me.”

I can see the frown upon Master Baiter’s face as she sails away from the wreckage. Her steering is hard to maneuver as she attempts to make her masters cough away the loot. The wails of her sisters haunt her and she creaks in despair. She feels she deserves the slapping of the waters and the stamping of drunken men upon her deck.

To dust I shall return, for I am dust. Yet here I am. The determination of my hands to lunge on without me says it all to the dust. That it does not belong here. The grip on the rag declares my betrayal, so palpable and as clear as a pikestaff. The indignation in my eyes is unforgiving. If only my mouth and lips had not been drained of saliva by my thoughts, I would have anathematized the dust so harshly for settling here. I would have cut it dead with my words and sent it away with jibe. 

Musings. Dust. How can I be dust? It rises upon provocation and with excitement joins the raging wind. It is driven wild without protestation and slammed upon surfaces brutally, and still it rejoices. How can I be dust? It pleasures in drifting here and there and when the wind is tired of tossing it about, it settles. Settles. From the air, like a dog’s tail between its legs (and ooh, this is one reason I like cats better, their tails perpendicular, never settling ashamed and hidden between legs… I can’t miss a chance to asseverate) like a hopeless creature, tired and wasted, it settles. Not a fight, not a will to stand, nothing! It bows its head and raises its hands in capitulation and settles.  How can I be dust?

Resolve. I join my hands. I can feel them fully now. I smile arrogantly as I watch the dust disappear. “Off you go! Find someone to bury you cheap and I’ll pay half the price. Go settle elsewhere, you son of a bitch!” My lips can now move, and ooh how they waited to say these words!

“And don’t you return! Don’t you go crying to the wind to bring you back here. And if to you then, when I cease to be, I shall return, then we will confabulate, and you will explain to me how it is that I am you.”
                                                                        James Kaluna 


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