The Toll Takers

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Abstract

ome from a long line of soothsayers bread makers and toll takers, who celebrate the simplicities of life and believe in the power of magic as they gather gooseberries and eggplant drizzled in olive oil and smothered in soft cheese that melts upon the tongue. Their recipes entice me.They discard words with abandon and gesture with their hands with the frequency of the homeless loner who collects cans from my alley way.They deci

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pher the night and break the darkness but I am blind to everything they see. I can only think that their magic has been separated from me and has skipped my generation, as wolves howl blissfully into the night.But then, the sun beckons the stars dance and the moon smiles with uncomplicated delight and I feel closer to the simple pleasures of what I know is my life.© Connie Song 2022. All Rights Reserved.</article></body>

Poetry that doesn’t want to listen

I come from a long line of soothsayers bread makers and toll takers, who celebrate the simplicities of life and believe in the power of magic as they gather gooseberries and eggplant drizzled in olive oil and smothered in soft cheese that melts upon the tongue. Their recipes entice me.

They discard words with abandon and gesture with their hands with the frequency of the homeless loner who collects cans from my alley way.

They decipher the night and break the darkness but I am blind to everything they see. I can only think that their magic has been separated from me and has skipped my generation, as wolves howl blissfully into the night.

But then, the sun beckons the stars dance and the moon smiles with uncomplicated delight and I feel closer to the simple pleasures of what I know is my life.