Friday, November 7, 2014

one fear of many

from the garden i hear the familiar whine of metal through wood,
then, some indistinguishable utterance of reproach,
barely audible above the whirring of the saw blade,
then silence,
and a second later the back door opening and closing,
my mind conjures a variety of horrors,
as i walk,
swiftly,
then run,
to the house,
from the other side of the screen door,
i see you,
one hand in the other,
i am calm and terrified,
still and frantic,
and as i open the screen door,
relieved,
to find you,
removing a splinter from your thumb