Wednesday, April 17, 2002

Mayday (corrupt text—need hard copy) XXX

MAYDAY

When I was a child I remember the way light bent time like a stick in water. My grandmother always talking about the returning of the sun. Soon I was following every season, watching the sun through the trees, the way it crept back annd forth on the ridge.

One time I even took out a ruler and measured the speed of a shadow. I was lying in the front door. Our house opened to the east. No accident, that. It was an old house, people tgought like that then.

You know, seasons? I remember as a kid celebrating May Day. It was so exciting with our May flower baskets and the Maypole with it’s crepe paper ribbons, Once I got to be one of the maidens, but everyone got all off track and we bungled the weaving. 

But then we stopped doing it. someone must’ve complained. Some overzealous Christian type made nervous by all the little pagans running wild. You know the type who move to the country from urban ares and then immediately want to change everything? Destined to recreate what they were escaping? 

I mean what harm was it in gathering flowetrs and dressing a maypole? Who was it thrreatening? We were too innocent to have orgies.If that’s what they were afraid of. I don't get it.

Maybe they were afraid it would turn us into communista or something. Why did May Day become the day for the workers of the world anyway? Must’ve been the idea of red and fire. 

My grandmother said it was called Beltaine. The fire of Bel. The Bible named another god Baal, but I think he was after blood. But not our god, Bel was the beginning of summer’s fires. 

She said she remembers her grandfather rolling tar-filled barrels down the hill of this farm...but by May the summer grasses here are waiting for an excuse to burst into flame.

(missing text xxxx) grandmother was about the returning of the sun through the trees, and I never thought that the years would race by as fast as the sun did across the floor. The acrid smell of burnt dust in our nostrils, like the odor of nostalgia.

(missing text xxxx) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 they had the power. It wasn’t about freedom or fear of the dark side. The rights of the many were sacrificed to quell the nervousness of the few. And nobody though to yell mayday, Mayday customs are being destroyed,

 this time of year measuring light with a ruler.  

See? complained kind are charmed by the quaintness of a place then some area up are being destroyed

 We even named a city after Bel. How many people know what the name Baltimore means? The great fires of Bel? Should we rename it? 

Power corrupts. It wasn’t about sacrificing freedom or fear of the dark side. 

old are being destroyed in the name of progress 

Such was the warp and weft of our lives.
kids the 
 my ars 
would race by as fast as that little crepe paper ribbons. But then we stopped doing it. 
Sheathens

The great fires of Bel. Not like Ireland.

Ma Day absolutely
neuroses. 

Pointing it out its zenith. 
 from the big rock to the trees. 
or lit wagon wheels from the top of the 
his blonde in unfounded 
a glass of sliding back into heathendom
their The way a stick bent in a glass of water. 
As if magic was afoot. 
As if magic was afoot waaiting to trick us into something dangerous.
 But the danger was right in front of us all along.



CW 855 MFA Playwriting
Brighde Mullins, 4/17/ 02

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