Mom had been thinking about it
for quite some time.
If she were to leave,
what would the leaves say about that?
Those green eavesdroppers,
always creeping into everything.
A harbour for bugging peeping toms –
black spies there,
sitting, waiting,
meddling –
hidden in plain sight.
Blinding neighbours
with closed curtains, Mom crept
while Boy & Girl slept –
truncating
belongings in a closed trunk,
engines turned on
and drove away in the caravan,
the rear-view mirror showing
perfect places for broken angel
wings –
a utopian dumpsite for
adult shortcomings.
The open road park-
ing lot, suitable for a child-like
run-a-long, hosted
a battle of solitary glances
and untrusting stances –
treacherous fan out
blowing them into oblivion.
But nurture was weaker than nature,
taking, tucking Boy & Girl in,
absorbing
their psychedelic dreams –
imagination spreading through
dried-up roots.
Boy: back-packing burden
of life on his shoulders.
Arrow cuts boy –
heart-breaking realization.
Girl: spilling her world
from a magic suitcase.
Launching spells through a bow –
happy prestidigitation.
Boy: a compass, 2 photographs, 3 brushes, 4 cubes –
mathematical precision
for practical problem
solving.
Girl: talking clocks
between gloves and socks
with snake charming thoughts.
Bedtime monsters
transfigured to animal rugs –
proud display of childish hunters.
Boy & Girl: a collage of fresh
fertilizing friends,
catalytic agents of foliage
ear growth. Over here
the nosy green neighbours
found their way back
home replacing
the mother-drone who
washing her hands,
(guilt reduced to agitated drops)
back-glanced with
an afterthought:
What a nice day to blow them away.
