We all have our own time machines;
mine is water.
People call me Kala
because I don’t remember where I came from.
My skin has long since darkened
from traveling, trying to find my answers.
I am now a nineteen-year-old woman
capable of handling herself in sketchy situations.
Some people believe in photographic memory,
sheepish people don’t notice misnomers.
Eidetic memory, the gift given to me by life.
It has led me to my time machine.
I am found at the base of a white elm
by a wandering Turk.
He was old beyond age.
Practitioner of Pre-Gupta,
he read his Agni Puran religiously.
For six years this kind soul nurtured me
until fate met him in the form of dragons.
These dragons made of smoke and
birthed from red gold,
they have been called Yahweh’s flower…
As his opium stained lips conducted
his final concerto of chaos control,
his retinas expanded with his final
threads of knowledge, completing
the burl of information his mind had absorbed.
Every smoke ring my eyes see
remind me of him for none shall
equal his hearts of orange.
After a year meditating beneath a waterfall,
with nothing but the spirit molecule
and birds to feed me,
I am born anew.
Kun Gek Do, my new skill,
emulation of water.
fluent arm and leg strength
allow me to puppeteer my opponents.
Today I found a sensei in water.
She has become my mother
and my time machine.
For six years I ruminated in wonder.
Following mother’s carved paths.
I still ask myself,
Where is father…?
Here I am at my father’s door at last…
to find only an engraving
of death’s feet
on the step.