ACTUAL MANUSCRIPT - Davy

mx. onlooker

mx. onlooker
by: davy w.

table of contents
mx. onlooker | underneath the mezzanine 1
FAIRBANKS MORSE & COMPANY | ST. Johnsbury VT 2
Lake Seymour | Morgan VT 4
Connecticut River Arch Bridge | Bellows Falls VT 6
a breath. 8-9
Lake Pleiad From The Lookout | Hancock VT 10
SCHOOL HOUSE | Heathersville VT 12
Masonic Temple | St. Johnsbury VT 14
LONG TRAIL LODGE | Rutland, VT 16
mx. onlooker | atop the balcony 18

Well, we walk right down to the tracks. It’ll take a little while,
but once we get back far enough, you tell me the place and
I take us to that moment in time. It plays from your memories,
so I’ll see everything you do, and be able to help you from there.
- In Time, Onlooker

mx. onlooker | beneath the mezzanine
i like the life that i live just fine.
always moving,
always looking.
onlooker | always looking
september xxxx
but because i am here and there, i know much more.
standing outside of the stream, looking left and right before i cross.
i see life as now and then.
the green mountains
have always been my home:
peace.
tranquility. guidance:
red clovers on lush hills denies this to many,
but i’ll gift it to them.
walk against the stream, see where things went wrong.
loss hunts down the heart and strikes when
it is most vulnerable:
an introduction to life.
1

FAIRBANKS MORSE & COMPANY | ST. Johnsbury VT
Marcus Kirby | a lonely little orphan boy; he’s looking for his mamma.
January 1975
the world and its apathy works in mysterious ways.
sometimes it’s the trees that carry green leaves through winter, refusing to let go.
sometimes it’s how your feet leave no prints when you move through the dirt; impartial.
i know you dream of coming to vermont one day, young one.
i want you to keep dreaming. you won’t find who you’re looking for.
you have not grown and
there might be no room for you.
reality lodged a stone in your throat and said, “swallow.” expel it,
but just remember how it made you feel.
you’ll grow up, but never know the tender feel of a mother’s touch.
how to put on your suit for sunday service or
how to love another woman.
i’m sorry, schoolboy. momma just isn’t coming home.
if you go there and play in the dirt, you might see her again,
tending to her dying garden, feeding it with her tears.
2

3

Lake Seymour | Morgan VT
Brooke Seymour | an older girl. removed from the one who matters most: needs a swimsuit.
November 1856
dear little one,
morgan seymour was your father, honey.
although he’s from vermont, he had an upstate-new york about him.
he only had but one daughter. you were his kettle pond.
now his body rests under a lake,
but his beating heart stays with you.
he is the water that keeps your feet moving one after the other.
wade on, watch the ripples guide you to him.
and he is the waves that call for you.
that bathe you.
dear morgan,
vast cold mass, hold
her.
as she ages, she forgets how to swim.
hold her tight.
embrace her in your aquatic body,
and hold her close
so that she knows you’re still there.
4

5

Connecticut River Arch Bridge | Bellows Falls VT
Kim Rose | abandoned in youth. left with an impossible choice.
December 2000
you have never known the warmth of cotton,
a hole-less roof,
or home-cooked meal.
you’ve always been so carefree:
untouchable by time. but
whatever doesn’t defy gravity, crumbles beneath it.
endless tumbling on and on into a spiral.
free-falling.
twenty-two years of rolling like a marble on a decline.
your teardrops merge like atoms with the river: silent.
imminent.
invisible.
but i can hear them drop.
the below freezing wind whips your blood-rushed face as you stand underneath support
beams that
creak and bellow, almost calling out to you.
begging you to stay.
there’s a 131ft trench between you and
reincarnation.
don’t liquify.
with the weight of a granite heart,
you’d sink to where the light doesn’t reach.
but after all of that pressure,
it would be a shame to watch you
erode.
6

7

8
let a wave of green-mountain

9
air wash over you.

Lake Pleiad From The Lookout | Hancock VT
Richard Faman | a factory man who needs to find himself. a removed cog: listening for the whistle.
April 2005.
it’s 5:00 a.m.
burnt out cigarettes and stale black coffee
are waiting on your nightstand,
your wife katherine lays next to you.
the oily black ravens that perch on
your rusted shingles have spared you
this morning and instead, the sound of your childhood awaits your waking ears.
something familiar.
listen for the whistle:
deep in the untouched forests of vermont,
in the middle of the state where no one goes,
winds floating through imposing beech trees on green mountains
are calling to
you. footpaths that your friends have carved with bare feet will reappear,
guiding you through the common yarrow,
over the pearly everlasting, to the lake surrounded by springbeauties.
the carolinas can no longer hold you. return and become immortal:
listen for the whistle:
just beyond the view of the lake is an old treehouse that rests against time.
creaky gray birch logs make the floor, the walls a sort of maple.
worn out movie posters, trinkets and toys,
all things that were played with by girls and boys
are here at The Lookout.
you could still hear your 15 year old laughter if you’d just
get a little
closer.
run to the whistle.
10

11

SCHOOL HOUSE | Heartwellville VT
Ezra & Audrey Bailey | forlorn parents seeking life, but not getting it. they’ll get another chance.
July 1999.
red petals lined a path to the old schoolhouse.
bells rang, mothers cried.
a marriage bounded in these halls. they were blessed by god.
fourteen years of tangency led to one point of cohesion….
it’s been 7 years
thick shards of ice rain from the overcast skies.
not a single red trillium grows when there is
no love. the purple ice of vermont kills
without mercy.
so you two have left your old home,
boarded up the windows, buried
the keys.
set your old life ablaze.
yet after years of no remorse,
the schoolhouse’s heart still beats.
slowly pumping blood to a land cursed by snow. winter waits,
starting to open its arms, inviting spring for a warm embrace.
12

13

Masonic Temple | St. Johnsbury VT
William Desaguliers | a fallen king. lost his power too soon. but the earth can not hold him.
May 1957.
1717.
bells are ringing in the ears of those who were once
on top of the world,
running secrets through ivory tunnels,
trading massive fortunes,
puppeteering the world one string at a time.
the omniscient architects in a modern era.
1732.
but this was a group torn apart by ignorance:
“We don’t want your people here.”
“We don’t take kindly to cults.”
“God will not forgive you.”
christians just couldn’t understand.
1791.
now only a myth remains of you,
the first master mason. unrivaled
by the most elite, admired by those
in your lodge. what a pity.
1957.
yet,
a stray wind has blown through the grasses of st. johnsbury.
up the withered brick walls of the masonic temple,
and through the rusted copper bells that ring.
calling you,
master william.
14

15

LONG TRAIL LODGE | Rutland, VT
Felix Barnabee | turning into stardust,. turning into memory. rocking.
the waiting room.
halfway between a heart attack and a highway.
August 9968.
a brown maple chair,
tweed of wheat, hat tipped low,
rocking, rocking.
horseflies sing songs of yesterdaybramble
bushes and hot mirages.
the taxidermy tiger is ready to pounce,
but plastic trees will kill you faster.
rocking, rocking.
purple drapes to line your coffin,
made of pine, glossy finish.
if you want to stay young,
you could just get up.
rocking.
16

17

mx. onlooker | atop the balcony
sit with me for just a while.
onlooker | resting for a moment.
september 9999
i love what i do,
joy,
love,
a warm heart.
i think it helps.
i hope it does, at least.
i want them to have what i didn’t:
now, i’ve done my part.
i’ll sip my heavy gray tea, and let them pass through the trees.
put the postcards in frames; make them immortal.
i’ll put them in my room, and cry when we laugh together.
i can’t think of any other way i’d like to spend my time,
than to be here with them.
and you.
thank you for listening.
18

In Time, Onlooker and Mx. Onlooker are two separate projects that have
similar themes of loss and reflection that resonate within these pages.
The inclusion and contextuality of the quote serves as a connective tissue
between the two works, as they even contain similar characters, as well
as sharing a peculiar name.