Harold’s First Child

Innumerable times I had felt you.
Like hot pepper. Yet you were gentle
as a lamb. But full of wild odors.
Bound to make a crossing
as Lerny did.

In a thick cigar voice, he was
as patriarchal as you’re not.
She couldn’t stop crying, would
take out her compact power
and then cried some more.

What a rogue death was.
Ripped Lerny who was queasy
as a child. But that was before you
and the rest came. She was
lugubrious for a while.

Prompt: It’s almost the end of the season for our current issue. Some of you might be looking forward to the next issue and wondering what the theme might be. I’d say, whatever it is, themes all kind of overlap one another. Love, loss, lies, spies, and the process of making art. So you just feel deeply whatever your godhead is, and write from that place. The theme would be one that’s familiar. I just defamiliarize it by putting a name to it, that’s all, marking a new season of spring/summer. If you are in reality in the fall/winter of your life, look back on your spring/summer. The second time round (you wish) would be just as sweet.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s