Carnation Heads
by Amanda Chiado
Jared carries his wand into the funeral. It is of the high realm with embedded powers of Aylon. The gold band on the handle tells a hieroglyph story of how Tricove brought his father back from the dead, but when his father returned he had two heads.
Jared thinks about how his father will look with two heads. Then, the Double-Mint song grows all minty in his ears and dances around in his head. Will both heads be identical? Not likely. Just like Tricove’s father, one will be evil and one will be good. Jared likes that because his father was a man’s man, an old chap, a chip off the ol’ block, which meant, Get the belt. What the fuck are you looking at? Boy, what are you, some sissy?
Maybe the second head could say I love you.
Jared hides the wand in his long black coat. It was his father's and still smells like dust and Marlboros. There is a scratched lottery ticket in the breast pocket. The old room of the mortuary has cheap carpet, uneasy to walk on and a bit of Pine-Sol sharpens the air. All the old ladies look at Jared with poor thing eyes. Their embroidered hankies sop up the tears on their wrinkled faces. Wow! they will say, when Jared’s two headed father sits up in his deathbed and is full of a proclamation.
Jared walks up to the front pew where his mother stands statuesque. “You’re swimming in that coat,” she says, then pats him on his head like a mangy puppy. Jared tries to hold her hand, but he’s so nervous that the sweat on his hands slides their hands apart. Jared touches the wand in his pocket like a secret.
The preacher tries to console the onlookers. Jared counts the carnations on the giant heart placed next to his father. It's over three dozen soft pink heads. He recognizes all the photos of Jesus are 8 X 10s and that the preacher has a scratchy voice and scuffed cowboy boots.
When everyone hangs their heads to pray, Jared looks backward to see them bow, sunflowers after dark. He can feel some of their prayers arrive for him, sliding up his coat sleeves. His mother looks like an old wet potato. Jared wants his two headed father to kiss his mother twice as much in his next iteration of existence. It is Jared’s turn to look into the great, glossy black box. Thomas Barrington is engraved on the side.
Upon seeing the face of his father, Jared holds his breath. That is a part of the ritual, so Jared won’t accidentally breathe his father in. He pulls out the wand swiftly and holds it high. The preacher’s wife screams, “He’s got a stick.” The blind pianist cuts the gospel short. Jared bangs on the casket with his wand. Thwack.
Among us you grew,
arrive again, now as two.
Thwack. “It’s a golf club!” Aunt Barbara yells.
Jared’s mother tries to pull the wand from his hand, but Jared yanks it away and she loses her balance and falls against the carnation heart, scattering the pink heads. Thwack. The largest cousin Leroy, a bodyguard, tries to take Jared down by grabbing him by the waist which shoves Jared into the casket, knocking it into the piano with a clang. The body rolls out. Jared clambers to his father, wand now in the pews. He cries and punches his father’s one dead head.
Amanda Chiado’s work is part of the Visible Poetry Project 2019 and she is the author of the chapbook Vitiligod: The Ascension of Michael Jackson (Dancing Girl Press, 2016). Her poetry and short fiction have most recently appeared in The Pinch, Barren Magazine, and Entropy. Her poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart & Best of the Net. Amanda is the Director of Arts Education at the San Benito County Arts Council, a California Poet in the Schools, and a reader for Jersey Devil Press. Amanda loves horror movies, cooking, and dancing. Get weirder at www.amandachiado.com and connect via email at amandachiado@gmail.com.