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: Dreams, Past, Poetry, Reality | Leave a Comment
Tags: apple, backyard, barn, black cat, brother, burns, dream, floral, flowers, house, kern, mandy michelle, poem, purple, sister, sparks, summer, swing, toe-headed boy, woodpile