wakingphotolife: Flickr CC
A Horror Story
We almost run into a family of deer,
but she jerks the wheel at the last moment,
The car jolts.
The drive is short, and she uses it
to tell me about her husband who died,
her thoughts on religion,
the late appearance of spring this year,
and the early burst of warmth in February
that melted the pond and put an end to the ice skating.
She basks for a while in the accomplishment
of her family flocking home to take care of her.
She’s unaware (or maybe too aware)
that only the day before, her son had told me
that his life was still back in St. Vincent.
We continue down the path,
swerving. Each corner turned reveals
something new—horses warm in their stables,
a shock of trees, blackened by melted snow,
while the fields
and the sky darkening quickly
without the presence of streetlights.
I think back to home,
where the sun was too bright,
and every day was a warning.
How many times was I told
to be careful where I walked?
I slip pomegranate seeds
into my mouth, wait
until the world is watching,
and bite down.
In an instant,
the world turns,
and the sky is beneath
Above me, the ground closes in.
The cool darkness, a relief.
I feel each shovelful of dirt
as it settles against my skin
even before I can taste the fruit.
I think back to home
—as I rise, I am overcome
by the blinding light
of a brilliant, red sun.
Tiffany Babb is a New York based poet. She is interested in the tension between images and the written word. You can find more of her work at www.tiffanybabb.com
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.