Three Joshua Tales

JOSHUA AND THE GINIP TREE

 

Joshua loved Ginips. He had heard precautionary myths about swallowing the seeds, them rooting in bellies and growing. So Joshua swallowed. Ginip pearls pushing down his throat.

 

He waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited waited

 

for his stomach to bloom; to feel roots sprout hairs out of his pores, to deliver a new generation of Ginip seeds.

 

But nothing happened. Had he not waited long enough? Had he waited too long? Joshua grieved for his misconception. Round bursting rot. He sought other fruit for his fancy, tenderly forgetting Ginips as much as he sorely loved them.

 

Now he puzzles at what people call the YeGaFarsaken tree. Grown as evergreen as a spring regret, a wide bridge, rooted near the sewage pit in his back yard.

 

 

JOSHUA VISITS HIS UNCLE

 

It is Sunday and Joshua went into town to visit his Uncle. They say it is the hottest day of the year. His Uncle’s a broad man in scope, a flexible man in dreams. He could do the splits up the leeward side of his house on a day like today but today he’ll sit, drink Ginip tea and chat with Joshua

 

It is Sunday, and it’s Uncle’s day off. The gentleman callers have faded into tall tales

 

He sighs in a white linen suit and leaves his feet bare and with youthful fingers he pours a large glass of chilled Ginip tea for Joshua’s dry throat, sits cross-legged and talks in similes. Uncle stares through the window onto the view of his white picket cage, out beyond.

 

Uncle: We’re like stones as troubled as tea cups left in the
yard after tea parties, just like all of them.

 

 

JOSHUA VISITS HIS AUNT

 

Auntie always calls on Wednesday. She wants Joshua to sit for a five course dinner silver spread on her shoulders up the country. Joshua hesitates. Wednesday is the day he kneels under the YeGaFarsaken tree rooted near the sewage pit in the back yard and waits for ‘what’ (?)

 

Auntie doesn’t understand hesitation. It reminds her of fathers. She doesn’t understand children. They remind her of allergies. She doesn’t understand throats. They remind her of drowning

 

Joshua brings her flowers with tin foil at the base. She understands tin foil. She greets Joshua with mooneyes and a smile broad enough to frame Joshua’s hunger, and from the view on her shoulders she feeds him star apples and soy.

 

Joshua tells her tales of poets and lovemaking and queer kin and wombs and windows, and visions of holes deep in the earth.

 

She understands holes deep in the earth

 

 

Andra Simons is a Bermudian writer and performer living in London. He is recipient of both the Bermuda Gold Award and the Golden Inkwell for his poetry and plays. Andra has published and performed in Canada, Caribbean, UK, Bermuda and the US. For more about Andra go to: andrasimons.wordpress.com

 

The full collection of Joshua Tales is published by Treehouse Press.

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