Legion Press

Where My Blood Has Gone

by Andrew S. Fuller

I do not exactly
converse with rogue black cats
or force the moon to blink
at the bat of an eye
or press my voice to the dirt
and sing to the sleepers
till they boogie
exactly
but I know some things.

So on Oct. 23
when I hauled out the trash
and a leaf rested on my neck
a little too long
and four more came at me
fluttering in from different trees
I had to dodge deep
forearm block
uppercut
roundhouse kick
and held the stance there
eyes a blazin' & whatnot
and cocked my head
to the silent windless day
and I squinted mean
as the trees creaked despite
is when I understood
where my blood has gone.

But I know some things.

So I got from the junk drawer
some toothpicks I never use
and spent the afternoon
pinning down to the yard every leaf
then sprinkling it with garlic
and when my neighbor whom I never talk to
came out and said,
What in tarnation
I just looked at him low & tight
and went, Grrr.

 

For the Love of Shadows

a poem from the chapbook:
For the Love of Shadows
© 2000 Andrew S. Fuller

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