A bare-bottomed girl
runs to a window. Last night
her grandfather muttered
of a world full of violence,
the dread of never-
ending rain, fountains
overflowing their pools,
the earth a mire in which
everything dies; her
parents penned in,
rats under their beds,
scorpions in their robes,
snakes in the bread basket
and birds and bats roosting
in every high room.
Her mother caught weeping
made the girl a promise:Â a day
will come when we
will open a window,
a dove on the sill
will flutter over your
shoulder. There’ll be
the scent of green wood.
You will see a mountain.
EXPLORE
The Arena of Aesthetic Elaboration
i never write to be read, i've always said.
it was never a considered decision
to hide my notebooks and scribbles from you
unless you check my...
