The haunting


A single pebble overturned on this mud strewn path,
its marbled edge, an aftermath of violence,
like a flutter of a butterflies wings-
its psychedelic dust strewn to cause chaos a million miles from here.

How long in frigidity on the road to nowhere it had sat,
the residual memory of fiery birth
now a passing nothingness,
just like a pair of hunter wellingtons,
displacing its pretend sleep.

It did not expect a small boy to pick it up,
warm it in his pink, plump hand,
and hold it up to the golden winter sun
as if it were the most precious gem a small boy
had ever seen before.

It did not expect the comfort of his newly washed pocket,
or the rhythmic hum he expelled
as he trotted merrily looking for fairies
In the skeletal woods.

It did not expect to be named,
and kept as a pet under a pillow case
Made of pirate dreams and cowboy cards.

It expected to remain,
on a mud strewn road
belly up,
Until it was dust.


5 responses to “The haunting

  1. Charming piece, Shan. Lovely images it creates of an innocent young life, involuntarily connecting us with the fullness of time and space. Nice way to start your year.

  2. Oh! I am so glad I found your blog and you again! I was rereading a comment and a tanka you sent me in 2011, and your tanka was so beautiful. You are such a good poet.

    Lady Nyo

  3. I loved the idea of this, Sian, but maybe you could edit some out and make it tighter about the boy and the pebble and their intertwined histories? Lovely images in there x

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