Nocturnal Journal #2
Fiction & Poetry Newsletter by Ecem Yucel
-Poetry-
Flowers of Osiris
Even if I returned one day, wouldn’t remember me,
rooting in that old neighbourhood, my dear childhood tree.
Must have died and been born and died thousands of times,
all those fireflies that used to amuse us
by twinkling in the dark at the garden of my grandpa’s house.
I noticed the tiles at my high school had been changed,
thus, the memory of the weight of my steps was erased.
The toddler I babysat bloomed into a young man,
a coincidental meeting —
and he wouldn’t recall my face from then.
The old man closed his tiny record store one rainy day,
who sold me my first Paul McCartney album on a birthday.
I doubt my old friends or lovers kept the letters I wrote to them,
must’ve been ripped into pieces, burned to crisps,
my every feeling, every poem.
Over the years, little parts, places, things, emotions,
truth and lies, loved and hated ones, beliefs and strong notions
have crumbled off my frame and been left behind,
some to be kept in warm thought, some are, eternally, exiled.
Yet, the worm that still gnaws at the spongy tissue of my brain
is the thought of your existence somewhere, in unknown terrain:
in your mind, every image of me, my very idea is long slain,
name’s forgotten; blurred with the rest, my face is, at best, plain.
Hence, even if I’d trace back and find my sycamore tree,
the letters, the fireflies, the marble tiles, the kid, the ‘97 LP,
even if I was given back each good day I had upon my plea,
everything, nonetheless, comes down to you, you see.
If I, one day, stand before you and can’t cause a ripple in your iris,
then floods the Nile, the dead are unguided, withers the flowers of Osiris.
-Fiction-
Eleanor Rigby
The coin tossed into her cup made a clang, and Eleanor looked up. The man who tossed the coin was already walking away, but he left a two-dollar coin with a five-dollar bill and Eleanor felt the pang of gratitude ~though she really hated gratitude.
She adjusted her sitting. She was sitting on the hard, cement pavement, under a footbridge, her back against one of the pillars coming down from it. She had her worn-out bag, plus her things filling a garbage bag on her side, her paper cup for the coins, and the rectangular cardboard leaning against the cup, saying, Hungry — anything helps! Damn Ottawa cold was crawling under the worn-out blanket tightly wrapped around her body, and she had no way of preventing it.
A family of four walked by her, the kids were making a ruckus as the parents were laughing. Once more, Eleanor wondered how it would feel to have someone in this life with whom she could share warmth, conversation, food, and maybe even love. How it would feel not to be alone. She wouldn’t know. She was forty-something and couldn’t remember a time she wasn’t lonely.
A high-pitched yelling pulled Eleanor back from her thoughts.
“Miss Rigby, Miss Rigby!”
A boy around twelve years old ran toward her, carrying something in his arms.
“Miss Rigby!”
Eleanor thought how absurd it was to be called Miss Rigby by this silly child.
“What do you want Billy?” Eleanor asked with a hoarse voice. “Didn’t I tell you not to yell when you’re near people?”
“Help me, Miss Rigby, they’re gonna hurt him!” Billy said, looking down at the bundle in his arms.
Eleanor remembered the day she met the kid. He brought over a hot sandwich and a grande hot chocolate from the Starbucks thirty meters away and gave them to Eleanor to her surprise. He was chatty and curious, and though Eleanor did her best not to be friendly with the kid much, he managed to learn her full name and kept coming for mostly one-sided chats.
“Who’s gonna hurt who?” asked Eleanor crankily.
The boy unfolded a part of the bundle he made of his sweatshirt. Eleanor saw big brown eyes and a wet, black snout in the layers of the fabric.
“Is that a dog?” she asked.
“It’s a puppy Miss Rigby, and some kids were poking him with sticks at the park over there. I grabbed him and ran as fast as possible but they’re after me. Please help me hide him!”
Now Eleanor could see the brats running toward them. She reached out and said, “Give it to me.” Billy wrapped the arm of the sweatshirt around the puppy again and handed it over.
“Give us the dog, you thief!” yelled a kid. Eleanor stood up carefully with the puppy in her arms, wearing her most scary (the one that usually made kids say ‘look-it’s-the-crazy-homeless-lady-run!’) expression.
“Who is the thief here?” she barked at them. “This kid saw you harassing my dog! Do you want a piece of me, ha?”
“Damn, it’s the crazy homeless lady! Run!” said one of the boys. They ran, laughing at their own bold rudeness.
Eleanor sighed. “Little shitless rascals…”
“Thank you, Miss Rigby! I wouldn’t be able to deal with them on my own!” said Billy heartily, but Eleanor wasn’t listening. She was looking at the puppy, and the puppy was looking back at her. A moment later, the puppy reached out and licked her face, drawing a little smile out of Eleanor. She felt the stiffness around her mouth as she smiled involuntarily. God knows when it was the last time she used her facial muscles to smile.
“What are you gonna do with him?” she asked, petting the puppy. “Take him home?” She tried to repress the curiosity in her voice.
“I wish, but I can’t, my mom’s allergic,” replied Billy. “I’m really worried about him. If I bring food and things for him, would you take care of him, Miss Rigby?”
Eleanor thought about it for a minute. Her thought process was interrupted by a couple of lickings.
“Only if you bring him food and stuff. I can’t even feed myself as it is, kid. If you don’t help me, I can’t feed him and he’ll die when the real winter cold comes.”
“I’ll help, I swear!” said Billy happily. “He needs someone to love him. He looked so lonely before.”
“He did, didn’t he?” murmured Eleanor, preoccupied with thoughts.
“Miss Rigby, all these lonely dogs, where do they all come from?”
“What about people?” she retorted suddenly. “All the lonely people, where do they all come from Billy?”
Billy thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Miss Rigby.”
“Every lonely living thing comes from the void,” said Eleanor, caressing the puppy’s head absentmindedly. Billy frowned and opened his mouth to ask what she meant. But then he saw the poorly hidden smile on Eleanor’s face as the dog kept licking her, excited.
Billy smiled. “I’m happy you two found each other,” he said.
Eleanor stirred restlessly. “You talk too much kid. Go, buy this little guy some food and water and a thick blanket. Go, before I change my mind!”
Billy laughed and started to run. God knows where he’s going, Eleanor thought. Then she looked at the puppy.
“Hi. I’m Eleanor. What should we call you, huh? Hmmm… What about MacKenzie?”
MacKenzie barked cheerily and licked her face again. He was warm, and cute, filling Eleanor’s heart with love for the first time in a long long time.
Thanks for reading! If you’d like to read more poetry from me, please check out my new poetry book ‘The Anguish of an Oyster’ here.
You can also check my website for more information.
Delightful, again. 🙂