The garden is dark green and the king has set up his kingdom here for the afternoon. Waiting for the next case, he sits on his throne of stone. Clouds move in circles above. Red berries hang from the overhead profusion of foliage. The king is cornerstone and supreme shadow here. But is that a winter sky or just a chain saw working at the sun? Now two women are escorted in. The bailiff's face is a woodpecker's. The woman in red carries a baby. The one in green carries grief. Her clubfoot has gone to sleep. The king lifts his snow-covered head like he's just been handed a prison sentence and as he listens to the dispute laid out he finally raises his hands and says, "I've heard enough -- we'll cut the baby in half!" And when a scream spirals through the garden it's not clear which woman has screamed -- then it's clear to the king because the woman in green is weeping. Beneath the poised sword the infant's toes and fingers curve and twinkle. And held against the tapestry of the sky the bailiff's sword continues to glitter from the light striking it like water against rock. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org |