Sunday, January 3, 2021

hidden behind the leaves

Currently my prosepoem hidden behind the leaves is the subject of this weblog. This is the the 21th of 81 installments, and the conclusion of Part 1, Autumn. The first poem was published August 16, 2020 and can be found using the archives.


twentyone

a path through woods banked in drifts, glazed, up the hillside as the snow covered red tile roof comes and goes, skewed by green snow-ladened limbs
with the dim light of the back dock leading them on
stomping feet up shoveled steps,
dog barks and a portly balding man says well well well, so you have come back
so I have, says master ko
i do beg your pardon, sir, i spoke to the dog
yet here i am, says master ko, and you, too, professor, here you are
dog barks up at one and again at the other
you have me at a disadvantage, says the professor
many students, one professor, says master ko
ah, so it is
you have exchanged the lecture hall for the refectory, philosophy for recipes
so i have, so i have; less, i find, is more
dog nudges master ko's hand
so who is this fellow, dawg, that you have brought to my door, asks the professor, and invites them in for oatmeal and eggs
and as the morning wears there come the women, sprightly or stooped, who pad quietly in to eat and go
with rosy cheeked children well in tow
and old men with knobby red knuckles and broken nails, the frail veined hands cradling
chipped cups large and small of blue and black and red and yellow while
fuzzy headed novices scurry about swabbing tables and sweeping floors
oatmeal and eggs and white plastic spoons with
the lopeared mongrel asleep in the pantry, muzzle upon his crisscrossed paws
ladling thick cooked oats into offered bowls
gapped tooth grin
belly full
better'n a kick in the slats, an ancient fellow says, like christmas to a christian
ha ha ha

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