1.8.11

Stones and Rubble

Stones and Rubble

Here is what I want to tell you:

About the time I saw a boy, standing ghoulishly alone on a dark road, his presence a terror we swerved from.
Where? I wondered. Why? Again.

There was a leaf that fell once as I was climbing, scaling the park’s sentinel, rough bark gritting through thighs, legs wrapped around and arms outstretched. Its falling was a murky dream through water. Three times it flipped upon itself, twisted in the wind and flew. Still green, still lively, broken from my shaking, flying, wind-driven, to its death.

When tears leap to eyes, do all throats close off? Choking on mourning, unable to swallow, frozen eyes as thoughts leap like freed backyard frogs behind them. I wonder this.

Moments frozen in memories become rocks in the stomach, lading the heart with grit and stone.

Worm-gnawed flashes of your skin and smile. Worried laughter pipes through terror. Chips of mortar fell from you in dust so fine it was not noticed.

The boy stood braced to the darkness, a mask of lumpy misproportions. At his feet, roadside rubble.

3 comments:

  1. Poetic, disturbing, emotive. Above all beautiful.

    A powerful piece of writing.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks Steve,
    High praise from such a talented writer.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Wow, what an evocative piece. And some wonderfully strong images it brings with it. Beautiful.

    ReplyDelete

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