The Owl and the Sea.
Perched in her tree, the daughter of the Owl
Rearranged the sticks of her nest;
she didn’t want
any jutting twigs.
She combed back her blonde feathers
and was pregnant with hunger
Maybe Wal-Mart, or even Trader Joe’s
would have some good prey.
That’s when she noticed him, her mate
The boy from the sea.
He often appeared as he did now, solidifying
From the froth of the sea stallions’ mouths
He pushed his black hair out of his eyes
And turned his green baby seal eyes to and fro
Looking for her.
Where was she? The boy wondered.
He couldn’t see her anywhere
No glimpse of a long pale limb in the undergrowth
No flash of sunlight hair in the canopy
He heard a whoosh, something was on his back.
She had wrapped her legs around his waist
And arms over his shoulders, her bronze knife held
casually against his neck.
‘Got you’ she said, in her lilting, musical voice.
He twisted his head around and kissed her lips.
Top Withins.
I met a girl on my walk to Top Withins.
She was like
“totally in love with Cathy and Heathcliff they were soooo mean' to be”
I mentioned my
love of how Bronte uses them as literary vehicles to demonstrate the destructive effects of passion and how it can affect generations.
She replied,
saying that “Heathcliff and Cathy are totes cu’e together, righ’ up there
with Larry Stylinson and Joshifer”
I asked what she meant.
She said that
“they were the original Edward and Bella”.
So I got out a gun and shot her between the
eyes.
In the Forest.
How can you pick up the threads
Of an old life and continue weaving?
How can you continue believing everything is fine
