by Chris Bullard

  Home  |  Contents  |  Authors  Wordrunner eChapbooks  | April 2024  |  echapbook.com      

Some preferred places without light
for escape: the bed fort, perhaps,
the back of a bedroom closet,
to wait out the parental storms.
For me the single oak towering
over the short-cropped grass
of our suburban quarter acre
was where I felt most protected.
Leaning back into the crotch
where three strong branches met,
I was turned upward. Birds
and the abstract edges of clouds
wandered across the illuminated
disc of heaven like the tiny
creatures I’d seen wiggle
through a microscope lens.
Everything leafy was in motion.
Warmed by the sun, I might nap,
cradled by that maternal sway,
except I feared to fall to earth.
In that cache of sky, hidden
and watchful, I meant to stay
high up and apart from others.

end of story

© 2024, Chris Bullard “Florida, 1960” by Chris Bullard