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- 02/28/2017
- 369 Words
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Sock Drawer - 39. The Shepherd Bush
The Shepherd Bush
It's joyful walking in the woods
where leaves and sticks crack merrily
under my boots,
where caterpillars twirl on threads
of silk and on protruding roots
trails of ants march in curving queues
and the foliage, with time of day,
changes hues.
Not mindful where I put my shoes,
I skip and drag my heavy treads
through nature's ancient flowerbeds
until I reach a smooth and shiny
bush, leaf-covered and viny,
that I've seen so often before.
I've been aware of the fruit it bore
every year, but this time it's more
of those black berries, galore!
And casting about I can see
no one around this time, but me.
Each year, all year, it had been
beleaguered by the clever and quick,
the ones that really know how to pick
the juiciest bits with the prettiest sheen,
and I never knew their taste.
How would I know how to eat
them right, I thought, what a waste
it would be and my feet
always remained planted in place
when everyone else joined in the race
for a sweet berry.
And how they would hurry,
how I would just stare,
so sure not only I was aware
of the beauty of this plant, its leaves
stiff, veined and silky,
when it rains they shed milky
drops to the ground like green eaves,
its branches dark and furrowed
outside, with elegant twists borrowed
from pixies that must have danced
around the sapling it once was.
Among the hardened tendrils dark
I can see without grey bark
here and there a pale green bough
that slowly moves in lazy curls.
How it beckons to me now.
Who knew this bush could move
like this, its vines could twirl
around my arm and leg
when I come near?
I just reached out for a berry,
the nearest, the first I could see,
touched a leaf with my knee,
and already on my neck
I can feel its vines unfurl,
snake and swirl,
until they cover
me and draw me close,
gently, like a lover.
The red, sweet juice
runs over my smug smile
and it doesn't let loose.
It's me he chose.
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3
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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