Parable of a Blade of Grass

     -for kml

Where the fire enters
a city of small doors, a city
of one blade of grass, a city
where the fire enters, where
the children lick the stones
of the street on their hands
and knees and the mice gather
in the square with the others
to watch the one blade of grass,
where old men whisper in
their hands, a city where the old
women move their skirts against
their thighs to remind themselves
of their own flesh and what flesh
can do for a city, for a fire,
where a couple not from the city,
not blue-veined, but full of flesh,
watch the town gather around the blade
of grass, watch them offer their eyes,
watch them heap stones around
their fire, this couple not from
this city, not flattened by the heat
nor the dust, watch the children
crawl to the edge of the blade
of grass and offer their young tongues,
in this city where the fire enters,
the two not of the city walk to
the children, step over their hunched
backs and dirt-stained lips, past the edge
and pluck the flower from the fire,
from the city, in this city where
fire enters through a hush of flesh,
the couple not of the city snaps
the blade of grass in two and
place it in each other's mouth.
Watch them eat fire.
Watch the children grow
legs below the knees, watch
the old men kiss the old women
behind the house walls.
Love is when you can hear the flood coming.

Copyright © 2008 Roger Reeves All rights reserved
from Gulf Coast
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission