On the Fall of Nimrod

Contrary to popular belief, it was not caused through linguistic cacophony—at least not the audible kind. The men of Shinar labored many years without speaking because the ether was much too thin to bear the burden of conversation. The story goes that Nimrod glimpsed the light of the heavenly mantle and could not keep his silence at the sight of such splendor. His voice, however, failed to drift to the ears of the men, instead plummeting down with the weight of stones into the surrounding void. But the ether was not so easily satisfied, drawing from him the exhalation of a lifetime, words struggling in vain the fill the empty spaces, until Nimrod finally vanished into the vapor.

At the loss of their leader, the men could no longer contain themselves and rushed down the tower to where the air was again willing to accept what they had to say. But the road from Heaven was long and they descended so rapidly that their thoughts failed to recompress by the time they reached the bottom. Their voices wavered, floating back into the clouds or else becoming planted within the soil so that the villagers could not grasp the scattered fragments and the men themselves no longer recognized what they related.

The tower had no voice of its own to deny the levity of its characterization and in its time became a palace, a poor house, a bath house, a brothel, a mountain, and a molehill until it was so worn from a protean existence that no meaning could be ascribed. Thus, like a tree that falls unheard in the forest, the tower became the shadow of a forgotten artifact, a specter to haunt the dreams that no one can remember. That is, of course, if you believe such babble.

Pulling Teeth

Don't think about it. Don't think about the fear shielding your eyes like venetian blinds through which we glimpse the silhouette of tomorrow. My daughter is still as I carefully fasten the thread. It has to come out, I say. I stand over her bed. There’s a market for that tooth. I tell her that there's a queen with a kingdom of ivory gems who comes only once you're asleep and removes the tooth from under your pillow, whisking it away and leaving behind a present to greet you with the morning.

Don't think about the pain. I have fastened the snare well and watch as the barbs become rooted in your skin and drag you down. The heap of your grey pachydermic hide unfolds like a mass of covers as I stand over you. My daughter asks why can't she keep it and I tell her that's just how the world is. You wouldn't want the queen to not have a house, would you? Your eyes grow heavy at the pinprick of my touch. I follow the thread away from her toward the far side of the bathroom and listen as the door slams into silence.

You will not think about the loss.