In the Valley
In the valley the weeds grow grey and tangled; ivy snakes over the stone. The game
continues in silence and slowness: pawns are eaten by the earth and bishops crush
or are crushed in rockfall, but they rebuild over centuries, until they drag themselves to
another tile. The kings and queens linger in the shadow of the trees, watching in slow atrophy.
The youngest sits on the grass with her spindle. She sings softly to herself as her fingers
twist deftly in her lap; her eyes are unfocused. Her sister paces the length of the valley,
leaning on her staff. She watches the game sharply, her gaze flickering from piece to
piece, unreadable.
The old woman stands hunched in the center of the valley, as still as the stone and as
grey. Her head is bowed, face hidden, her shriveled body swathed in white. She
takes no notice of the crumbling pawns, and the game continues around her.
A rook castles suddenly and so an earthquake destroys a village and thousands of years
are gone. A knight awakens and makes its move; cities are broken under its horse.
This is the slow dancing, the articulate speech. Pawns inch forward with great care,
deducing the expendable; they lie broken in the crannies, healed by the rain.