The Seven Foot Man

He may be a convicted murderer, but on death row he is far from unique, and so the seven foot man whittles his wood and weaves his tapestry.
His little figurines of Goldilocks and Heisenberg though, are unique. A pear shaped girl emerges from a block of old pear wood, and smells miraculously of pear drops.
How does he do that?
Like a maverick in a card game, the man from Cincinatti smiles the geneticist’s smile. He can perform miracles. He is a man with new shoes and no knickers. The prison doors hold no fears, nothing is closed in the openness of his hands.
He spreads his palms downwards and remembers the fall down the deep hole that was his undoing, the revenge that was his, an act of youthful aggression.
Atonement shapes under the spread of his fingers, but the swell of completion irks him.
He begins again.
The long march of the seven foot man.

The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Anne Rule