LET’S GO MUSICAL AT PAPER POETRY

Well Earned Rest in the Afternoon Sun

In ottava rima

I look back squinting, in case it was not what I did really think that I do see. Look down again into the eyes of what was this red rodent staring back at me. What’s in his cute white paws? What has he brought? Some small and shiny gift that couldn’t be. So painfully, I crawl off from this chair. I smash my walker down. This isn’t fair.

And suddenly, this daydream I wake from some hearing that I’m hearing something on. Election workers try to get it done. Just doing work when everybody’s gone. They count away while we beat on this drum and try to be fair when curtains are drawn. A thump and suddenly we’re face to face then quickly, Red thumps again, just in case.

I clank my way across the great divide and chase this little critter. He looks back. I somehow shrink, completely mystified. Now I’m in trouble. I sure have that knack. The suspect squirrel looks at me resigned. He throws me on his shoulder with a whack like an old sweater if this hairy beast would ever need such a thing in the least.

I’m carried past the hostas, blue and green. More blue and greener still. They harmonize. This pantheon of backyard creatures seen and now those black and beady rodent eyes and all those gnawing tiny teeth so clean could look so harmless. I apologize. He carries me down a long earthen hole. Look up at newborn baby cloud. We stroll.

Now turning this way and then that way too. Who’s here to pay the tune in this dark room? From blue to black my eyes do need a few more seconds to adjust to certain doom. I smell a little blood. I’m black and blue. I curse the glare. I curse the dark and gloom. The squirrel looks at me and shouts, “Shut up!” “I’m saving you. Take a sip from this cup.”

In seconds Red has quickly rolled a stone and blocked the front entrance. We escape. That wily long-tailed weasel walks alone and wears black robes and holds a roll of tape. A long and bloodstained tooth, now fear is sown. Against the now blocked door a nasty shape. A flick of tongue and off for easy prey. A bit of luck and help has turned our way.

“I better get back,” I said. “I’ll get my hat.” “It’s neither good nor bad,” the rodent squealed. “And I just felt like helping you and that our narrow interests intervene and yield some corn just so we understand. Now scat!” “I would scat but what power could I wield?” Some resignation must have set on in. So please, today, don’t ask what might have been.

Blind fear won’t win this day without consent. A badge of honor some still wear as shame. I turn to thank my host and ask what’s meant and suddenly I’m back from where I came. Those hundred dollar plates now cost the rent. If this is but a game it’s fair to blame. Now suddenly I’m back here in my chair. The same red squirrel turns and shoots a stare.

A knowing glance and scent of squirrel’s musk. It runs back to its home down in the ground. This early summer evening almost dusk. A short and sometimes tearful walk home bound. Everything still so fresh and brisk and brusque. A goose will honk or that truck’s horn will sound. Three catbirds fly close by and mimic call. Watch playful bluebird puddle splash us all.

It’s puddles again, always it’s the same with all those twists and coils of hoses drawn and water sprays as the last rays to blame with earthy smell of dusk before it’s gone. The frogs and flying birds, moths to a flame and those we left behind out on the lawn. The swifts, the bats, I start to feel weary. For now we are one happy family.

Let’s keep it that way. That’s the way I think. And when I think, I usually sing or hum. So Dylan’s song starts as I take my drink. “It’s Alright Ma I’m Only Bleeding” strum plays on internal sound system. I blink. Maybe it’s apropos where thoughts come from. I’m in that short time almost waking when you’re not aware of where your body’s been.

So I feel this complete and total peace and feel the hot sunlight fall on my skin. The feverfew and daisies bring release. Lime green and lemon, green up to my chin. As this small lone white butterfly won’t cease. Ignores external jamming. Hears within. While noise leaks out from me in bleats and beat. Meanders up the path. It’s quite a treat.

Please link to Indubala Kachhawa’s wonderful Paper Poetry Prompt above. To anyone who would like others to listen to your inner music, check out the prompt. Thank you, Carolyn Hastings, Indubala Kachhawa, and Suntonu Bhadra for keeping the music and this place going.