Reading at Home

Evening and the light of a lamp.

Outside, a shower of little hands

Rains down on my door.

(What page are you on?)

Inside, the rumble of distant thunder

As slowly a shy storm stumbles on to my lap.

The quiet plenitude of words unfolds,

Words, crushed to a fiery powder,

Lick at the sleepy memory of a womb

Where anything can happen.

Where shadows creep on dragons’ feet,

And clouds spread out like bloodstains.

The ravaging hordes advance their doom.

Whispered rumours travel on the back of the wind,

As a harrowing tide of blood and bone breaks,

A spell of steel that slices thin

The shallow peace of little men.

Again, the lust of conquest festers anew,

Again the silent witness of sky,

As war descends, and the innocent cry out:

It’s dinner-time!

I feel a tugging at my sleeve,

A gentle intruder shuffles his feet.

It’s time to eat.