How It Happened
It happened in the woods,
of course, where all that growls
maintains a weird light.
Dreams are petal cut-outs against
wood that happen
to ignite even the barest
fraction of memory.
The slightest growl
in the dark you remember
fingering your afghan
that night, as a branch
tapped the glass.
Only it wasn’t the woods
where it happened because you
were on the inside. You had only wished
you were the woods as dark
crept near your belly.
Nails and skin, crocheted blankets.
Just forget it.
It happened
where all dark things do.
From Cracked Planet, forthcoming from Negative Capability Press
First published in Dispatch One, December 2005.
Shanti Weiland 