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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3484 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention I Never Showed You the Yews E. V. Brooks (Lia) I never showed you the Yews. They line one side of the coppice- tangled thick bark, twisting for light. I must tell you the Yews never die. New shoots grow through dead wood where old branches turn brittle- ready for sleep. These ancient trees really do have an everlasting heartbeat. A new house. Boxes unopened on oak floors, blue plates edged with small brushstrokes of Pinks stacked unevenly on mother’s well waxed bureau. I could have rented somewhere along Drewer’s Point-- A big, old converted barn perhaps, or one of the small white cottages squashed together in a row below the folds of land nipped and tucked by the coast. How much of a recluse would I need to be to find Drewer beyond the window pane?- sunken in the valley where time stops and silence drifts on the back of the heather. Ornaments wrapped in newspaper and the mismatch of tired furniture scatter around the edges of my decision to stay here in the city. I wonder now, as traffic drags the street outside, if he would have been worthy of my sacrifice, I scour the words again-- Over and over, until they no longer make sense smudging the paper with a knotted black stain. |
