When those huddled together beneath it walked away,
The paprika-colored ground went along with them,
An autumn Hansel and Gretel trail danced around their feet,
Crackling, rustling, and smelling of that great smoke,
Even though there wasn’t anyone around to burn leaves,
She remained even when the shadows shuffled on in,
Wide black clouds of sunless leafy lava erupting,
Flowing in sporadic peaks of burnished gold and crimson,
And she thought she could hear the squirrels laughing at her,
With their “Mach-mach-mach” conversation from above,
He was her guardian of ancient girth and towering strength,
And she liked to think that his bark chips tasted of dark chocolate,
Bittersweet flavored ecstasy that made her spin round, a tiny tornado,
Of girl and leaves and color, never feeling her feet touch the ground,
Until the wind died down, and, like him, she was too rooted to walk away,
Ever again.
Poem by Michelle M. Mead
Michelle M. Mead is a writer from NY’s Hudson Valley. She’s edited two zines, and been published in various print (Polluto, Trespass, Words@Deakin Press, Capsule Stories, Montana Mouthful, Chronogram, Blinking Cursor, Planisphere Q, Thirty First Bird Review, Renascence/Yellow Arrow Pub.), and ezines (Fahmidan Journal, Tigershark, Last Leaves, Apparatus, EMG-Zine, Under the Juniper Tree, Gutter Eloquence, etc) and her work, and an interview, can be seen at @MMMeadWriting on Facebook.com.