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by Nels Hanson One new, one old, two pairs, four brown shoes left tracks in the dirt path from my door, toward open pasture of wild antelope. My red shirt I saw flying above the pines, a white egret with burning breast like morning sun beating scarlet pinions. In blue jeans, bitten rip for tail, an auburn fox ran quick along a riverbank, glancing thru shadowed water where rainbow trout swam disguised in argyle. Mummy wrapped in yellow scarf, a snake hunted underground blind moles in armor, a glove's severed fingers. I dreamed my wool coat glided like a hawk and opossum waved down vest's green banner, laced boots hiding rabbits leaping three stairs and palm-leaf emerald- banded fedora skidding, trailing prints of mice, etched scratches in spilled flour. I sat up at dawn but in cedar closet all the clothes remained unlike black Baltimore Oriole orange-billed baseball cap a Douglas fir's high tip still wore up the street in a neighbor's yard. Copyright 2016. All rights reserved. Want to comment on this story? Click Here to go the Literary Review Discussion Forum (for the subject, enter "Comment on poem Break In") |