Small Talk

First published in Outcast Press, Vol. 2

One day the void will swallow me whole and spit out a pellet of fur and gristle and memory

I’ll call up to you in your hiking boots -hi!-
aren’t the laced roots pretty here?
this patch of shade this loam this moss this bark just the odd ant
mustn’t grumble
– a smile stretched over what used to be my face –

This is almost like old times
I’ll say
remember, we climbed bough over bough
birdsong and that joke
that nearly toppled you
clean air, lightly sketched hills
just the faintest shadow of wings overhead

Me? sure
I’ve passed through acid and been
retched down here into the mulch
I’m a touch more densely knotted than before
if it doesn’t make you gag we’ll be just fine

An oak leaf kicked over me as you pass
your eyes fixed on horizons beyond mine