Bimini Wall

We had gone to see the Bimini Road. At least, that's what we told ourselves. A historian and an anthropologist didn't just go on vacation without seeing something academically interesting.

We sounded like a bad joke: "A historian and an anthropologist walk into a bar in Cambridge and walk out to the Bahamas."

It actually happened. We'd actually done that.

The idea of leaving, of just leaving, was exhilarating; the reality of having actually done it was intoxicating. The historian held me by the waist as I jumped from rock to rock--the top of the wall, the road, whichever it was. I found myself not caring how this got here.

My feet were bare. I only had one dress--I'd bought it this morning. It was thin and flowy and made me feel beautiful and cool in the heat. "It's hard to believe that we're here," the historian whispered in my ear. We hadn't told anyone we were going until we were gone. Then I called my assistant and he called his assistant to say we weren't being academics today.

"I can't believe I'm here with you," I whispered back. I had known the historian for less than forty-eight hours but I was almost giddy with love.

The historian loved me, too, I could tell. It was magical. Simply magical.

Sort of like the Bimini Road.

Marfa Lights

...and some nights,
my apprentice and I sit on the side of the road,
and shoot up flares into the sky.

I love being a ghost.

The Dyatlov Pass Incident

The mountain at night wasn't necessarily a safe place. To be perfectly honest, nowhere was necessarily safe, especially at night.

But then again, that was all speculative nonsense. I had been on many a mountain before, for many a night.

That night, it was frigid.

I can hardly remember their names, now. Igor was one. Another Yuri, like me. Six others. There were nine of us. Two women. Seven men.

The Lead Masks Case

August 20, 1966

It was a nice day. The weather was windy. Decided to go fly kite. Got kite out of garage. Walked to local park. Found two dead men.

Found two dead men.

Found two dead men.

Found two dead men.

August 20, 1976

It rained today. Marilee didn't finish filing the papers. Wanted to be payed overtime. I refused. Walked to double-session with Dr. Ten years ago today.

Yde Girl

"We hereby offer to thee, the gods, this girl."

I cried under the hood.

"May she serve you well in your lands."

The noose was tight around my neck.

"Her soul is steady but her body infirm and we cannot keep her."

My back was bent.

"Please accept this hair as a preparation for our offering."

The smell of burning hair--my hair, shaved from only one side of my head--choked me.
A human sacrifice is never pretty.
She's always the one that none of the men want.
She's always the one that nobody likes.
Me.

And then they tightened the noose around my neck until I couldn't breathe and I convulsed but with no strength because I couldn't breathe and I fought them as they picked me up and grasped breaths I could because they weren't pulling any tighter but my fighting was too weak because I'd always been weak.

I was still alive when they threw me into the bog.

Jeannie Saffin

Kaspar Hauser

Once upon a time
(my Grandmother told me)
there was a boy
who lived in a box.

(And in that box it was dark and there was nothing to do and the box was small and the boy didn't fit so he slept sitting up and they fed him bread and water and nothing else and sometimes they drugged him to wash his hair and clothes and clip his nails.)

When the boy came out
(after sixteen years)
he had certain abilities
that seemed magical.

(He could hear things near and far, soft and loud, and he could tell metals apart without even looking at them, a talent useful for a chemist or jeweler, he felt that the metals were pulling at him as if he were a magnet and he could get drunk from the very smell of wine.)

I found these talents amazing
(so did my Grandmother)
and we marveled
and chuckled.

(And then the next morning, my Grandmother locked me in the box and said she'd see me in sixteen years.)