Returning to the Earth
The morning light falling into the wooded
passage I walk catches threads of a web
woven, from limb to limb,
across the way ahead.
It’s dawn, and no traveler has trekked
through here in sometime, I assume,
after the formless growth
of forest floor forward.
At the telos of the tunnel-like pass,
I reach a better beginning,
and wander on land opened
to splintered sections of empty benches,
which watch a wooden cross driven
into this wordless clearing.
Time now is the old ash
of a weed overgrown pit
left brick-chipped in grass,
with its seconds as circular
as the discarded tire
leaning against a tree.
What returns once I sit upon
a warped seat is the twilight
of late last year, the pumpkin
found nearby in thrash,
and its matter I carried
back home to fragment
into guts and seeds for deer,
who roamed down
from trail and furrow to forage
behind the fenceline, then,
while the cold
crept in.
…..
This poem is from the book Morning Grift by Alex Missall (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://finishinglinepress.com/product/morning-grift-by-alex-missall/
Alex Missall studied creative writing at the University of Cincinnati. His work has appeared in many publications, including Superpresent, Unleash Lit, and Pictura Journal. His debut poetry collection A Harvest of Days is available through Finishing Line Press. He resides in Ohio with his family, three dogs, and a bunny named Boy #3. You can find him at http://www.alexmissall.com.
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