Thursday, November 27, 2014



From the wet leaves I coaxed a large being
mound-shaped, not breathing but quite alive

Inside of this creature, dirt and the beginnings
of mud

He coughed leaves all over me
as I reached into him

I disassembled him with gusto
and put his pieces into a tall paper leaf bag
bearing pictures of red and oranges leaves

The empty patio stayed shadowed with dampness
A few stones remained

The night came earlier than ever

No comments

Post a Comment

The Storialist. All rights reserved. © Maira Gall.