10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
Summer Silencer He needed an automatic life silencer from the moment his own screams pierced the dense skull, rooted in its stem to the core until he was hollow -- A boy alone flashlight in tent blankets warmed in dark swaddled him in -- With musty old pillows that sometimes produced a curious insect crawling across his pale head perusing comics or colorful Sunday section at their woodland camp beneath the pinnings on the clothesline where he hid from them all day When supper was called he would hesitate until a quilt peeled back produced her expectant face and light behind it as she repeated her words lovingly Time to eat Not a command, a call to face the snarling man at their table When he wasn't there life outside the silencer continued -- By the creek, spying for frogs -- Under the apple viewing bees serenading pink buds -- Along the power line that made a trail -- rugged properties connected Strawberries would sometimes hide beneath red and green leaves still too early for maturation for a child who could remember a happy man who drove their green truck bouncing them -- unbelted on saddled stead -- over uneven terrain to collect wood discarded by yellow hat utility workers busied with clearing their trail With small lungs he drank in wafting vapors -- gasoline and oil mixed with summer air. Ears inhaled tempered buzzing from a one-horsepower propelled blade chained, decisively ripping trunks into stackable pieces handed up to load where he obediently stood inside the paint-worn, metal bed He would push down oversized work gloves from finger tip to palms repeatedly The morning soaked his face in their clearing where he wished lay beside harvested timber -- tightly packed by him -- load approved by the cutter They would return to wedge and split stack and earn lemonade on the tailgate He would eventually learn buzzings produced by cutters were not always as even as hewn wood After the last meal before sundown he spent one more hour dreaming inside a temporary lair -- imagining a new man to court his mother -- One who'd rub his head when he passed share a good word -- Who'd let him lay next to him in the easy chair (before too big to share) read the castoffs of Sunday sections until breakfast at the table in their den off the kitchen where she prepared and called her loving mealtime phrases And before the last clothespin dropped -- the final blanket folded up and stored in the cabin -- He took one look into the sky he missed shrank and sighed Walking toward the idling green truck he glimpsed a man he had not seen all weekend, who smiled The man who taught how to clip blankets to wire lines with pins, he recognized Good thing automatic life silencers have pins. more edits pending
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