top of page

Storyteller

Updated: Sep 24, 2021


In the summers you decreed

we'd live off the land:

un-planting the onions straining against

the weeds and plucking the berries

dripping from the vines.

Oranges with peels like scar tissue sustained us,

as you whirled us through the air.


To land was to awaken

the aliens and elves bubbling

the surface of consciousness.

Metamorphosized,

we dove in --

adventurers searching for the golden ring.

The dogs were predators leaping

the tall grass

as we forged the vegetational chaos

of the back yard.


Our days were spun from the magic of tales

you created.

And we were happy, then.


We held up your lies

like tiny umbrellas--

shelter from the pending storm.


Published in California Quarterly Volume 24, Number 4

36 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Pivoting

Comments


bottom of page