trees bend and wave, flowers remind me of running
through bushes with purple bunches, floral and lush until
the snap–a swing-set unmovable-cemented haphazardly
in the backyard with all its knobby trees and rotten leaves.
apple-core eyes are smokey and coiling under an invisible
chain-link fence for dogs, cutting the bandit’s neck staining
bare feet like crab-apples–ghostly presence in the long
shady patches of lawn… a black cat crosses a toe-headed boy.
he stretches his stubby fat fingers and yawns as a woodpile
splinters, sparks, and burns to the ground.
Filed under: Poetry, Reality, Past, Dreams | Leave a Comment
Tags: poem, mandy michelle, brother, kern, flowers, swing, sister, dream, summer, house, woodpile, barn, floral, black cat, sparks, apple, backyard, purple, toe-headed boy, burns