Friday, September 29, 2017

All That (Day 254)

He shouldn’t undo all 
the trees, hears loons 
downstream, calling 
to his imagination, 
shallow beginnings in 
the leaves’ gilded edges. 
It was the hottest 
year he’d known, 
like Hell’s south side, 
none of the geese 
have flown, but that’s 
fake news. Like back 
when we cried for more 
butter on our bread, 
they couldn’t hear us. 
Our lives were just too 
small for all that.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Image: Nomeato

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