Under the Ledge Where He Sat

man sitting on the ledge of a cathedral

The youngest goblin prince climbed the stonework of St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans’s French Quarter, on a sultry summer evening. From his perch high above the street artists, he waited and watched.

His brother, not the eldest but the smartest and the kindest, frequented this human city to court a human woman, earnest and kind, so like the elder prince.

Goblins didn’t mix with humans, except his brother, who did. The youngest prince pondered the hardships facing a creature pursuing a human in the heart of the Big Easy.

Behind the wrought iron fence enclosing Jackson Square, blackbirds rose in a wave to let a young couple pass. The couple leaned into one another, talking and laughing at a private joke as the birds descended in a ripple around them.

The couple stopped at a caricaturist, where the woman stopped each night on the arm of a different man. The artist greeted her as if for the first time, urging her and her beaux to sit for a portrait. She shook her head. But this evening’s man insisted, paying in advance, as they all did. Huddled close, her arms around his waist, his hand on her knee, the artist scrawled their image in colored chalk.

Afterwards, the couple walked away arm-in-arm. The man’s pockets freshly picked. The lady looking for an easy exit.

As they passed under the ledge where he sat, the youngest prince thought this woman, determined and devious, so like himself, would be worth the pursuit.

Photo of cathedral by Julia V. Ashley
Photo of male figure by Cottonbro Studio