The Forest
When the goner looped hemp around fragile neck and swung,
Did he think he'd be found?
Found alone in the forest. Rural Japan. Somebody had to tell his mother.
Look her in the eyes and tell her that her baby boy was in a sack.
Worse still someone cut him down,
A swollen flower basket spilling soil and lotus.
Civic pride.
Except that marionette clippers go home, watch children slip and fall in the kitchen.
Imagine them close eyes and drop.
Consider, before playing rope tire in the forest, that
Someone delivers your news.
And they don't owe you a damn thing.
YOU ARE READING
Happy-Sad Poetry
PoetryA collection of poems written by me over several years, many of which contain deep dark worries and fears. It isn't light stuff, but please lose yourself in my words and come out the other side a different person.
