Bamboo: A Gift from a Friend
by Kinsley Manning
The shoots angled into the vase, wedged between small stones, forming a teepee in the glass. A cup hovered above, tilting slowly. Children sloshed then ran from the cup bouncing off the shoots. Then cessation on the base. "Love, dream, virtue," the stones said. The children laughed at the sayings for the stones spoke with the buried softness of elders. Instead, the children danced and swung from the green poles. Some stopped to read or rest upon the stones. Others rode bubbles to the rising surface, welcoming the their friends as they dove into the vase. Sliding, dripping down the chutes the last of the children settled into the glass. All were still, some resting on the stones, some pressed firmly upon the sides of the vase. And the rocks sang magno cum guadio "Memento mori, memento mori." And the children resting in the wilderness of roots gnashed as they were consumed. And the others grieved, waiting for their turn to be destroyed.  |
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