Today's poem is by James Grinwis
An ointment jar glistens on the plain
while the moon pushes itself up
like a pregnant shark.
A cluster of young children with sticks
are busy pummeling something.
The village elder has set fire to a stand
of infested hemlocks, and a girl with blue hair
considers the thrashing heads.
Timber has a way of splintering
like the dreams of the most lonely.
Almost Beowulfian, the schematics.
A bibbed toddler
seizes a flaming branch
and holds it aloft, as if in challege.
Copyright © 2005 James Grinwis All rights reserved
from Backwards City Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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