“I tried to unwind, but the handsome arboreal one was as peculiar as his bright eyes that stared down at me.”
“I’ve evolved to living up here. I won’t be coming down!” He spoke obstinately, though there was no need for that, from the comfort of his imperial home that disc-like toes held on to
“No one asked you to come down,” I said, and white pebbles rained on my fingers playing silent melodies I could hear.
I had been expecting something different, but a tree frog?”
“There is no canary in Crow Town,” he said, and I wondered how he knew about that. It was a title I’d recently dismissed for a piece of flash fiction I’d written.
“A bee stung Abraham because someone drew the picture of it happening!” he laughed. And in the silver-blue light of the Japanese lantern in the distance, he kept talking.
“Are you coming up?”
“I want something different, rewarding, but, this is all out of synch,” I answered, looking for him in the leafy, green tree. He had the erroneous notion that I wanted him to descend and converse with me, though I’d explained that solitude in which to contemplate a new direction in my life was my objective.
I asked his name, but he wouldn’t say “Jasper.” The crows above his head caaaaawed to him, “Where are we all going?”
And canary Sansaba sang in Crow Town to all-black birds with iridescent feathers that shone in Light.
“Where is this headed?” I repeated the crow-question, wondering why they hadn’t nibbled on him. I thought they loved him more than corn.
“To a place for Autumn People.”
“I’ll get what I’m seeking,” I told him, and the sleepy, old frog on the ground croaked, “How long will this go on when earthworm Reuben stuck his head in his friend Aljenon’s front door, and his tail was still at home.
Submitted by: Naimah on 09/10/2016
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Tagged with: Voice of Muse
“Are you coming up,” Jasper, still talking, “This is my Tree of Light!”
And a new rhythm bounced under the Tree.
It was ‘Life’ I thought he said,
and the crows in Crow Town lifted their heads when Asa decamped in the wilderness.
“Asa, 82, fights like a soldier,” then Jasper asked, “Your name?”
“Fina,
and Jasper tweaked, “Someplace…flowers are blooming like you!”
Then all life inside the Tree, in and under, around the Tree,
sang to me in songs of Light,
and someone asked, “Tweak or twink?” and someone smiled,
and I, enraptured, “Is Light what I’m looking for?”
Asa continued in ‘Life’ without fear;
Light-birds kept singing to me,
to anyone seeking the Light,
and frightened Salea Kasna stopped running
down Cherokee Street at night.
Orin Kasna didn’t go to jail–was taken!
And no one, ever again, saw him gaze at his face in his mirror!
A child swinging was singing:
“La-la-laa-laa-la!”
“Strawberries red like my shirt;
chocolate brown like my shoes;
and grass green like whose what?”
Laaaaaaaaa…”
“Don’t walk the roads at night,” Sergeant had said.
“Bengal tigers.”
Asa had heard him say that, long before the bee stung Abraham
and the old frog croaked about earthworms.
Canary Sansaba sang in the Light,
delighting the child,
delighting enlightened Fina who stood and gazed into Orin’s mirror,
then turned away, beholding the Light within.
Peace, Love
Na’imah