Ruling Body Part
by Janet Marie Rogers

It was the left ankle, the one that was broken in the drunken brawl, that was singing now. Singing in painful howls with each step the heavy footed, unshaven, slack jawed, left handed, dole swind'ln drifter took. Had to keep goin - law right behind you, freedom miles ahead and a reluctant moon shifting in and out of sight, providing inconsistent light along the unbroken path through low brush of wild sage, cactii and desert flowers. Dust, the constant dust.
…and the ankle
singing in high excruciating pitch as you limp-walked, limp-walked your way to freedom through the night with only 2 hours till dawn, and 30 miles to the boarder only one more step, can't do it, one more step, can't do it. Need rest, need to stop moving, get the weight off the fuck'n ankle. Oh weakness, the failure the incompletion of the plan, the dream unfulfilled. Must sit now, say goodnight/good morning to unreliable moon. Revel in safe darkness behind closed eyelids. Lay back, become the dust, sleep…gone.

Today it is your birthday
Today you are 10
The family who loves you is coming to bring you presents in multicolored paper wrapped boxes. Your friends from school are coming to sleep over and bring presents.
Today you are 10. This is your day.
You were born in the Spring, and your mother was glad for that. You were born 3^rd, the last child, and you were glad for this. Your mother's childless sister, brought you a red race car, miniature size to fit in your hand, drive on bended knee along hard sidewalk cement. Your best chum gave you an envelop containing one free ticket to Dinosaur World.
Your mother gave you…..permission to go.

When you arrive, it's dark inside. The darkness gives you a rush. There are noises which make you have to talk louder to be heard. Then you see it. The mammoth beast with tiny feather hairs, making tiny feather movements in computer controlled air currents. The largeness of it's stature overwhelms you and you want to surrender to it. Fall to your knees and become smaller yet before it. You crawl on all fours past the roped barrier, hurdle awkward over the plexi-glass knee high fence and straddle the hairy mammoth foot and hump climb up it's leg as if going to fetch coca-nuts. Up the torso, make use of the hair like rope to hoist yourself on shoulder top. Peer over and into the spirit-less eye which falls back and into the hallow skull where you fall after it. Now you are there, inside the mechanical mammoth head beside a giant disembodied glass eye.

Happy Birthday.

You hear your buddy calling to you, looking for you, thinking you could be playing a game; he runs off to continue the search. You like being inside the dim mind of a mammoth, this secret hiding place better than the closet at home. You like the smell of the synthetic fur, old glue, and the feel of the rough fiber glass finish lining inside the odd shaped head. You want to live there forever, grow up there, all by yourself, but your ankle hurts. Must have rapped it against the eye socket on the way in. It hurts so bad, you can't stand on it.

You want to stay there, but the pain scares you, so you yell a spoiled 10 year old yell which commands response. The rescuers rush in but are confused by the origin of the cries for help. You tear off bits of fiber glass to throw to them through the vacant eye. They look up to see the Cyclopes mammoth ejecting hard bits of something, and you are soon gathered up from your sanctuary, with ladders, safety harness and scaffolds. Your swollen ankle is later plastered and you are sent home to turn 11.

The sun is rising at the crown of your head. You feel it bake right through to your lazy brain. It hurts and feels good at the same time. Makes you remember that you forgot to finish the last leg of your journey - oh, that f'n scream'n ankle. It screams so loud now, it sounds like sirens. It really sounds like sirens, in fact it is sirens coming to gather you up. Sirens screaming through the desert, driving down innocent sage plants, scrambling along in search of a man without description, except "he limps". If body parts had past lives, the ankle would be an enemy with whom you have many unresolved issues. With so much karma between you to work out, you got fated to live in the same body, the man and his enemy ankle. You yell at the ankle to obey you, beg it not to fail you again. Explain, your need to stay free, recount with it, the number of times it failed you before, at the botched robbery attempt, the beer hall fight, the mammoth head ordeal. And once again the ankle would have it's way. Commanding your life's direction for the next 5 - 10 years. The authorities retrieve their disobedient dog, patch you up, lock you up forever and a day.

You are laying on a cot in a prison cell,
…and your ankle hurts.