Demo piece for (Untitled)

Crab shack pickle stash.

I don’t know what to write. This piece is going to be completely expendable.

The Father. The Son. And the Holy Ghost. This is the Trifecta of Holiness, the triangle of the Divine, the Holy Double seated solid watching Father blessing down from above. Power comes in three, of course. There are two legs and one head. Most people think that the’ve got to be the one on top, heading the way, being the eye of the pyramid. But, I’ve always believed in the triangle in a different way. Roll over once, and then the leg becomes the head. All it takes is one small push. The triangle is still a triangle, but now Son stands over Father. It tickles the mind to think, now what’s he doing up there? I sure ain’t got a clue, but I’m certain in hell He ain’t blessing.

I’ve never been one for the Holy Triangle or the Divine Circle, Blessed Square, whatever. Even when I was just a boy, and all I ever saw was Mama sitting in the parlor praying at her Mama, Mary. We were lucky, she told me, to have a window carved in her likeness. It was made of some cheap remelted bottles welded together with some scrap metal Park found and small as hell, but it was beautiful in a way nothing else I remembered was. Everyday when I came back from school, sweaty from roughing up some nunchucks and stealing pitiful amounts of lunch money, I would see Mama sitting by our tired couch lips silently moving and peaceful. The sunlight would part the glass in such a way that what used to be Heineken bottles would now send the room awash with crystalline greens and golden browns. The colors were translucent but full like a heavy weight, and whenever a plane or bird flew by, it would ripple like waves. It was as if we were underwater, just Mama and I. She was a mermaid and I was a clam. But Mama never swam, she held her hands tight against her chest under her chin like a broken wing. I knew she was praying for me, but she was doing it under the sea. She prayed too long without breath, and that was how she drowned. The prettiest Mama ever was was when she prayed to Mary sparkling.

I really do wish I hadn’t broken Her.

If Father was Father, and Son was Son, then who was the Holy Ghost? What else but Mother, yet Mother is Mary, and then now there’s a big empty hole in the corner where the Ghost is. Simply put, there was another member of the family, made of the same flesh and blood but not quite. If you had seen what I had seen, been through what I had been through, then you wouldn’t believe in the Holy trinity that everyone goes crazy about. I may be a simple crook, but I had traveled to No Man’s Land and saw a Trinity more vengeful. I saw a Father. I saw a Son.

I even saw a Ghost, but, alas, he proved to be man as well.

-J.C.

Timely

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