the final paradebodies march underthe parade of umbrellas,all multihued sunsin a gray landof faded asphaltand ancient brick.the students’ feet crushfallen sorrel leavesover and over,the trodden pathnow a mortar and pestlefor classes— and dreams.an acorn breakssomeone’s thoughts,a concept for a paper is lost.they stopand the rain waits for them.but wren rings on.
the taming of the hourglassThe wolf's time slips, and hits its headon divided rock, cracked earth.The white pieces of her life fractureand fall into the pond,carried by the sands of blood.The water is colored crimsonlike the beating heart she tookfrom the fat solitary hareon the blue eve of yesterday.She had split his hourglass,consumed his flesh, digested himand his red sandsbut left his ivory bonesto time rather than stomach.His corpse had slid into the pond,the same one she now slides into,the same one where her hourglass endsin black-red waters, next to wilted callaswhere she will die under a glassy skyand will rot under its morning sun.It is the same sun that will feed callas,the next fat hares and hungry wolves,and all the wild, walking, breathing hourglassesbefore their time cracks, and slips awayinto the abyss of black ponds,where their bodies will submergeunder death-white callas, in waiting roots.
riding lionsAgainst the bellshe had clamberedto secure the lion’s neckbefore little devilsof excitement and greedclaimed him first.But she fell fromthe mountain of his head—on the wooden floor,in someone’s puddleof smuggled ice cream.She had been deceivedby his good looks,by his wry grin,by his flowing mane,and she had been scalded,beaten down by heat, scared away.Then a woman came inand roughhoused the lion;she tried to tame himwith a mother’s firm handsand tried to askif he could be kinder.But the lion roaredat this woman, thisfalse tamer, master.He bellowed againsther demand,against the musicthat enslaved him.Wild chimpanzeesand towering elephantsthreatened to chase him, too—but the girl rose to meethis regal saddle again.She patted his sable maneand softened, melted himmore than the summer heatever could.And at her requestand the bell's chime,he chased the yellow giraffebefore her.She derives her couragefrom riding lions
A Father's WagerA FATHER'S WAGERThe young knight had knocked on the door of his father’s quaint house two days before. He had sat down on the same wooden stool of his childhood, which wobbled then under his full weight and armor, and had stared directly into his father’s quiet, black eyes.“I did not do it.”His father did not speak, and instead ruffled his own ashen hair, then paused. He left his son in favor of the breeze that ushered outside. He could not breathe, and so the wind had to act as his lungs.The charge against his son was devastating. Fellow fathers once frequented the house with marriage on their tongue, wondering where the handsome knight might focus his courtship. Children, bright-eyed and red-faced, would come and gush about his son’s deeds and dream about the day that they too might become knights, though some knew that dream might never manifest into reality. His son had served as a role model; as someone that children and those who would or could n