I strolled through the neighborhood of beautiful houses All of which I had written Down the long dark street Past the cemetery Where all the tombstones Had my small white face. Over my shoulder burned the lamp Of the moon. The pages, in the wind, flew, were fluffed and ruffled Like water by stones into a tune. I watched the horse and the rat The rabbit and fox Leaving their tracks On the snowy drafts. The fox looked like me Had my face A long sharp chin A shifty eye. The wind riffled its beautiful pelt. My spelling faltered Under the spell of myself.
Copyright © 2012 by Lynn Emanuel. Used with permission of the author.