The characters of Xena, Gabrielle, Mel and Janice are the property of RenPic.
The following contains coarse language, lesbian sex, alcohol, violence, and blank verse.
If you find any of these distasteful, please seek out safer ground.
Covington
by Lela Kaunitz
lela@massive.com.au
| The Calm Before The Storm |
When I first saw you, you were danger. Blue eyes like the calm before a summer storm. You fluttered nervous parakeet at the gun in your face but backing down was not your mother tongue. "Melinda Pappas, Mel for short." Your mouth made a line and I turned away to hide my surrender. But when the warrior unfurled in your long frame, I stood transfixed. Who was I? Useless tag-along, Gabrielle. And you a descendant of Xena. Your soul called to me And I was too stupid - Lovesick, maybe - to leave. The word made flesh in you. Xena. The Scrolls be damned. |
| The Roar of Armies | I dream of war Not the chatter of gunfire But the roar of armies. The spear flung from my outstretched hand Strikes dirt. The arrow he fired Strikes home. Still, it was a good day's fighting. |
| Scribe | There's ink on my fingers. My eyes ache. Translatin' ancient writin's Hard work. |
| Gods, plural | Dreams again. Lying with her by firelight. So real I can smell it. Her hair, her sweat, her skin. Her arms. Her strength. The length of her body. Her thighs, her hands, her mouth. Gods, plural - You fuck like a heathen, Gabrielle. I'm awake and sweating, Twisting in sodden sheets. Where's Mel? I want to peel her skin off And swallow her whole. |
| Iced Tea and Civilization | Iced tea and civilization. Incongruous. I keep expecting She'll shed her skin, Werepanther, Vengeance incarnate. The South has its secrets, after all. "I'm havin' all sorts of dreams," she confesses, blushing. "Like Xena's still inside of me." I melt at the thought. |
| Easy | Drinking is easy. Before I know it, half the bottle gone. Translation smooth as scotch, My chickenscratch scrawl on the page, Smudged. The words make sense In this alcohol blur. "Been on the nutbread again?" Bard brat. Why seek the past? It's here in my head. |
| Dancing at Crete | "You have to tell her." Gabrielle is reasonable. I'm not. Pig-headed. Bull stubborn. I'm not going to your bed, Mel Pappas. You don't own me. If my bones melt, if my heart burns, I'll call it coincidence And believe it. |
| Archaeologist as Adventurer | Fist fight, midnight. Archaeologist as adventurer, dead drunk. He's twice my size. Christ. Right hook, glass jaw. |
| Role Reversal | Fainting's Embarrassing enough But I don't want to hear Mel carried me home. She's strong, that girl. Not such a stretch To Warrior Princess. |
| The Best Fight I Never Won |
So I woke in her bed. Unexpected. Better ways to stain sheets Than blood and vomit. I'm ugly. What a pounding I took. I won't chew for weeks. She's gentle With bandages and iodine Her touch lingering Past innocence. I can't close my mouth for the swelling How can I kiss her? "Lie back and sleep," she murmurs smoothing back my hair. Florence Nightingale with her own glow. She kisses my forehead. My mouth urges more. Leaning in Our lips touch - Bruised. I fall back jaw ribs knuckles on red alert. The kiss can wait. Her eyes are a promise. |
Dec 30, 1998