Page 34 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. IV #10
P. 34
25
Slow Dance
When evil appears dead center I turn to the trees
and ask them what’s next.
They answer bit by bit,
their leaves about them like pupils, branches undulating in the breeze.
What next?
Shadows across their gray trunks, blue skies,
clouds mercy visible.
There will always be mothers telling their children
to stay in school
to look at the white cat to eat a good lunch.
We are a vile species— murder, rape and desecration. The trees know it—
in their wayward rustling,
their purposeful posture,
their slow dance toward winter.
sArAh stern
