a wild horse
galloping toward me
granddad’s fingers
The mantle clock chimes as if it were an omen in a fairy tale. The opening notes of a slow waltz. Blue notes. How beautifully the mermaid dances on pain made out of daggers. How the tin soldier’s lead heart is heavy as ammunition. How the beanstalk winds toward heaven lithe as smoke from a smelter’s chimney. How I listen as my fingers gallop toward my granddaughter, off the table and on out the window.
Outside the almost laughter of a kookaburra, the supernatural quardle of magpies and her answering the “h-h-h-oo” welling from the hearts of the doves.
Outside the almost laughter of a kookaburra, the supernatural quardle of magpies and her answering the “h-h-h-oo” welling from the hearts of the doves.
by Jeffrey Harpeng
Macgregor, Qld., Australia
Macgregor, Qld., Australia
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