Treasure Island

bill costley

(May 21,1942 / Salem MA usa)

The Twins


The twins were born
on a day when the rain fell
heavily on The Valley
their family had come from
for centuries: the rain fell
while their mother waited
for the birth pulses
to push the twins out
out of her large belly;
they came out crying
w/out having to be slapped.
She called them di-criers,
the Twins who cried at birth.

They spoke to each other
sharp cries early-on;
they understood each other
but no one understood them;
what they cried about
was a mystery to everyone.
They had nothing to cry about
other than their smartness
that everyone took as normal.
After all, they were babies
of a normal size then,
at that time, in that valley.

Family crests had gone
out if style by then,
but they deserved one
of twin eagles, beaks
open to the left & right
making soundless cries
for the world to hear
what they had to say:
we have dual messages
to communicate to you:
Listen to us! LISTEN!

Everyone heard them
but no one understood them
as their cries overlapped.
What they were saying was
as incomprehensible to all
as what they were saying -
saying to the Valley,
saying to their country,
saying to the continent,
saying to the hemisphere,
saying to the world,
saying to the solar system.

A river ran thru the Valley
the twins grew up in, curving
as it entered the Valley,
making a great arc that named
the Valley 'The Valley of the Arc'
naming its people Arcians,
so the Twins were known
as the Twins of the Arc.
The Arc was their symbol.

The twins were given a sign
of two dots under an arc
to be known by, marking
everything that touched them
or that they touched, It
branded all they were & had,
from clothing to sheets,
wall-coverings, toys, tools,
utilities. The came to see it
'as theirs, eyes looking back out.
from under an eyebrow. It
was obvious to anyone
who was willing to look.
Everyone looked; everyone saw.

When something simple occurs
it becomes a symbol. When
something symbolic occurs,
it becomes a fact-in-fact. It's
raining now as I tell this story;
believe me I mean it to mean
something to you who read
or hear this. It is simple enuf
to be symbolic, symbolic enuf
to be factual. Bear with me
as I tell it. You will soon
see its value.



Knowing who you are
is easy enough; you are
who you are named,
son of, grandson of,
daughter of, grand-
daughter of, & so on,
tribally, but all
those many names
can tell you is who
begat whom, how,
why & wherefore,
not which way they
are heading & why.
These are your own.

Our eyes to see through.
Our minds to understand
the meaning of living
in the place we live,
among whom we are
given as parents, shapers.
You are fortunate to know
any of these, because
you can shape a story
out of these materials,
true or false, of your own.
Own it, no one else can.


But some will try. You
may not realize it, but
who you are may appeal
to somebody else who
may wish they were you.
Not you as you think you
are, bureaucratically.
You are being watched,
known by many numbers
that are attached to you.

Numbers can be used
to create a new you to
allowing someone
to become you., but
not the Twins who were
two of a kind, a pair
like no other. People
mimicked them once
a year on Twins Day.

If you are thinking
something ominous
is about to happen now,
it isn't. I'm simply
telling you the ways
of the Arcians in
The Valley of the Arc.
They never left it. It
was their whole world.
.
What I'm telling you is
folkish, not fabulous,
not fantastical, If you
were born in The Valley
of the Arc, you would take it
for granted, unexceptional,
the facts of life there. You
would see what the Twins saw
on the annual Twins Day.

Submitted: Saturday, August 31, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, September 03, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

neo-mythic folktale of 2 twins in a Valley

-


[01 NOV 10,16: 00 PST - 01 SEP 13,14: 51 PST
Valley Village 4-4D, Santa Clara CA 95050]

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