From AutumnSongs, 2004, Almustafa, Mara Style.

Mara-Ani, the poetic and chairbound, had waited long in the den of her home for words to pop into her head and translate themselves into a readable form on the screen, but distraction was smothering the impulse. She decided to stand.

And as she stood, she could not believe her eyes. The Net Citizens came forward in a ripple of IM activity, crying out to her in bold fonts — Where you going? You’re one of us — you can’t leave us now.

Cassandra the Seeress, who had known Mara’s heart better than anyone, came forward, and with a calm voice said, “I know you have heard and at last know your own truth and you must needs go. But before you leave us, my sister of the pen, we have a lot of questions. Are you up to answering them?”

Mara bowed her head. What answers would she have for these questions beyond, Heck if I know. What would she say to those who came to her from mid-surf to hear her farewell?

“I’ll try, but you KNOW I have a terrible case of block. What are your questions?”

The Seeress said, “Speak to us of men with 12-inch appendages.”

With a great indrawn breath and twinkle in her eye, Mara said,
“When you are approached by men who boast of 12-inch appendages, pity them, for they are either deluded or pathalogical liars who need to impress some woman, somewhere. Otherwise, they’re just trying to get into your cyber-panties and believe the thought of a home-grown hysterectomy attached to two jiggly things will send you into undeniable lust. Yes, pity them, for with the burgeoning number of 12 inch parts will come the need to outdo the others and soon they will tell you they have subscribed to penis enlargement programs via email and are happy to report they now have expanded themselves to a full and competitive 15. Next question!”
Then JC, quite the loveable snob, came forward.

“Well sugar, I know you aren’t really leaving. You’re too much of an addict for that. But since you’re already talking, speak to us of trailer park dwellers.”

Mara thought for a second, and then said, “When you meet your trailer park brethren, scorn them not, for they cannot be lumped into the same pile. Some have opted for affordable housing, some are armed and dangerous, and others are just waiting to host their own radio talk show and market the barbeque sauce recipe that is now top secret and in their possession.”

And JC responded, “ummmm…if you say so, sugar.”

Then came Matthew.

“Answer this, Mara. When are you coming over?”

And Mara said with a sigh — “Matthew. If I haven’t made the trip from Carolina to Seattle in the next 15 minutes, turn the porch light off. Verily, I say unto you, I ain’t coming over.”

And another came who said, “Speak to us of poetry and love.”

“Oh lord, don’t ask me that. Ok — your poetry is your life and how you live it, what metaphors you see in nature, and the occasional rant. It is your heartbreak, your joy and creative expression. Love, on the other hand, is like chocolate. If you’re on a diet, you should abstain completely, because the sugar free version just doesn’t taste as good.”

“Ok, the sun is sinking low in the sky and I have to go. My sink is full of dirty dishes and the mountain of clothes in the hamper will soon qualify as a national range. Farewell to you, citizens of the net. Long have I dwelled among you, and I will love you forever.”

Cassandra and Joshua watched her name become enclosed by parentheses. Joshua said…I give her 10 minutes. Sassy Cass, always the seeress, said…”thou art being optimistic. I give her 5.”

And they were both right.