The Aura of the Blue Flower That is a Goddess

    by Ray A. Young Bear

    Immediately after the two brothers entered

    The Seafood¹ Shoppe with their wide-eyed wives

    and extra-brown complexioned² stepchildren，

    the shrimp³ scampi sauce suddenly altered

    its taste to bitter dishsoap. It took a moment

    to realize the notorious twosome were "carrying"

    medicines， and that I was most likely the next

    target in the supernatural shooting gallery.

    It was yet another stab at my precious

    shadow， ne no ke we ni， the one who

    always Stands First， wildly unafraid

    but vulnerable.

    This placement of time， this chance meeting

    at Long John Silver's had already been discussed

    over the burning flower clusters， approved，

    and scheduled for a divine assassination⁴.

    What an ideal place to invisibly send forth⁵

    a petraglyph thorn to the sensitive

    and unsuspecting instep I thought.

    Out of fear I had to spit out the masticated⁶

    crustacean⁷ into the folded Dutch bandana.

    I signalled Selene with my eyes：

    something is terribly wrong here.

    Even in the old stories， ke ta-a ji mo na ni，

    my grandmother recited there was always

    disagreement， jealousy⁸， and animosity

    between supernatural deities⁹. That

    actuality for humans， me to se na ni wa ki，

    however was everpresent. It didn't conclude

    as an impasse¹⁰ that gave us the weather，

    the four seasons， the stars， sun， and moon.

    Everything that was held together.

    Unfortunately，

    there could only be one re-creation

    of earth. If it was requested in the aura

    of the blue flower that I die，

    the aura would make sure I die. . .

    Later， the invisible thorn——when removed by

    resident-physicians （paying back their medical

    loans）——would transform into some unidentifiable

    protoplasm and continue to hide in the more

    sensitive， cancer-attracting parts of the fish-eater.

    In the mythical¹¹ darkness that would follow

    the stories the luminescent mantle¹² of the kerosene¹³

    lamp would aptly remind me of stars who cooled

    down in pre-arranged peace——to quietly wait and glow.