You can see him there, a boy among the banyan roots, with light falling like coins through the leaves, his book stirring with dragons and spotted leopards. They are taking him where he'll never again, with shoes and suitcases and boarding passes, travel. Turning a page, he finds yellow-eyed wolves and their pups, the bones of rabbits. See how his bare toes curl when the animals talk, turn up when they lift their large, rough paws, their lacquered claws, their roars, off the paper and up into his body, as wild as theirs, and his fingernails and toenails grow long and tough and curved. He roars. He feels the ground shake as they pass out of his body into the jungle, past the snake that winds through the highest branches of the banyan tree, past the fixed white-eyed stare of parrots looking at the moon. Someday, when he is old, and the book is dust, and the black owl of night overtakes him in his heavy shoes, he will remember what they said to him: Follow our tracks: we are your people. He will remember all their names, and what they said to him.
Painting: Rick Mobbs, 5-9-08 image prompt
(OK, Rick, I am a little behind, but I'll catch up!)
8 comments:
oh pepek, so sweet, and those last lines, so true.
Image prompts are great fun and I like what you did here. XXOO
What a great response to the prompt. Hmmm ... maybe this is the start of something else.
Lovely language.
An incredibly beautiful prose poem. I love it.
The words are wonderful. . .the sound, the texture and the story you tell.
This is great! I love how the story characters travel through him and out into the world at large, alive. Beautiful writing.
Lovely! came here via Rick's blog, and was not disappointed:)
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