February 25: Late at night

February 26, 2013 § Leave a comment

Thumbelina underground


(Thumbelina and the swallow)
touch death
frozen beak, crystal eyes,
pull out feathers for potions and protections,
tunnels, cataracts,
to be  spring, not queen of the underworld,
but if the swallow does not revive, then
a toad’s wife
everything breaks

A buried child grows a little creature in his heart. Its teeth are soft and green like sea grass. It can only chew mud and fog. Fog is always warm, especially in the centers of trees, especially in the heart of the forest. His heart will break many times. I give thanks.


White starched curtains cover the body on the outside. There is lace on the bottom. The insides are lined with torn red bloody cloth, exposed to the wind. The body’s front door has been open. This is no spring cleaning. The hidden inner crevice contains a bird, a cauldron, a tree. All have been broken many times, looking weathered and dignified, an antique store back room treasure.


Oh, to live life with a two-beat delay:
no moment is meaningful until tomorrow,
let it happen tomorrow, today uncover only the magic of yesterdays.
We are never on time, even for spring.

It is not simple being a child. He digs a tunnel in the ground with the help of his heart creature’s teeth. They emerge in new lands.

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