The door was slightly
ajar
and singing
low and rich
ebbed into the hallway
sunlight illuminated the dark
paneling, a deep sorrel of twists and knots
the bubbles and whirls in the window glass sketching patterns
across the toes of Jacob's dark stockings
as he stood
raptly listening
Adults never sang, outside of church or when
drunk and lolling down
the cobbled lanes of town, locked arm-in-arm
with other drunken men
Was Uncle Emiel drunk?
The singing faded and was replaced
by whistling
A spritely tune, happy
like the tunes of small, jaunty birds nesting
in the budding trees in spring
Jacob felt his own lips pursing
starting to whistle
The same sprightly melody
he was a jaunty little bird, too
Inside the room
the whistling paused . . .
. . . and then resumed after a few moments
accompanied by
the gradual
appearance
of Uncle Emiel
vest-less and in stockings
him, as well
Uncle's shirt
glowed in the refracted sunlight like
the bright, cracking ice in winter
darkening his features
transforming the brown, unbound hair
cascading over his shoulders
into a mysterious river
that ran through jungles and
into the farthest reaches of the world
the smell of the sea
washed over Jacob, gently
making him feel
as if he were rocking
on waves
he could not see
Emiel cast the song again
singing the same four lines
twice
pausing then for Jacob to join in
the third time
his light blue eyes, direct and clear
gazing into
Jacob's light blue eyes as they sang
the same four lines
together
"You have a good voice. Do you practice often?"
Jacob shrugged and answered that he
might sing and he
might whistle
but noticing, he
never had
Emiel opened the door wide and
beckoned him in
YOU ARE READING
The Sleek Skin of the Leviathan
PoetryHolland, 1730. A young boy haunted by nightmares is captivated by the drawing of a Leviathan on his uncle's sea chest. But when the Leviathan begins to invade the boy's dreams, is he seeing reality, or only his own imagination? A verse novella (a sh...
