Rick had been jumping from tree to tree and trying to pee on my head. I couldn’t have any of that, so I climbed up a tree to give him a taste of his own medicine. I whipped it out and began panning at a steady rate. I’d climbed all the way to the top of the highest tree so there was no way he could get above me. I heard something above me. It was Rick. On what looked like a zip line. He got a shot off as he passed, but it went over my right shoulder and landed on a baby in a baby stroller down below. “Didn’t think of that, did you?” He said. I unfolded my wings and took to flight. “That’s not fair. You have wings,” he said. “But I don’t have the nerve to pee on a helpless baby. You have your nerve and lack of compassion and I have my wings. That seems pretty fair to me,” I said. He unhooked himself from the zip line and climbed to the top of a tree. Now he wanted to have a conversation. “Why can’t you just let a guy pee on you?” he said. “Sure it smells, but it’s sterile, and in some cultures when someone pees on you it’s a sign of good luck.” I took a knife to the side of my neck and made an incision down along my side. Then I reached in with my wing and pulled out a hunk of gold. “What is that a peace offering?” he said. “It’s my pee,” I said. “That is not your pee. That is definitely gold,” he said. “The stuff they make rings out of,” I said. “The stuff they make rings out of,” he said. “24 carat,” I said. “Can I hold it?” He said. “It’s heavy,” I said. “I have a sure footing, don’t worry about me,” he said. I handed him the gold and it pushed him down through the leaves to the ground where he was crushed instantly under its weight. “I told you it was too heavy for you,” I said. “No you didn’t,” he said. He set his broken bones and stood up, then ran over to the baby in the stroller and pulled a few of its teeth out. “Now you’re done for,” he said. “Those baby teeth are going to be the end of me?” I said. “I’m going to use them like little diamonds and cut you open everywhere and steal your golden pee,” he said. “Okay, but in the meantime would you mind going for a walk with me? I’ve been looking forward to one all day,” I said. “I’d love to. I could use the peace and quiet. It’s good for my soul,” he said. “I agree. There’s something about the low impact and silence of walking that gently reminds you of what you are doing while not turning you into another manifestation of noise,” I said. “It promotes mindfulness,” he said. “It certainly does,” I said. We walked for an hour, and had returned to the business of taking my golden blood. “Now hold still,” he said. I had to ask. “Do you think you could just let me have what I am, and not take from me today?” I said. “Well, sure. Why didn’t you just ask?” He said. “You didn’t really seem like you wanted to listen to reason,” I said. “You’re probably right,” he said. “Do you feel like walking a little more?” I said. “Let’s do it,” he said. We walked all night. The moon was huge. “Can you believe your own eyes?” I said. “I really can’t,” I said. “Even the smallest and most common things seem way to implausible,” he said. “I know, it’s like there’s nothing one can truly comprehend,” I said. “What if we just stay here under this moon until there’s no life left in us?” he said. “I’m all in. I barely have the will to move my body anyway,” I said. “I’m so glad to be with you for this,” I said. “Me too,” he said. “Can I hold your hand?” I said. “You already holding it,” he said.
Published by Chris Russell
Hi, I'm Chris, and thank you so much reader for visiting my blog and wanting to learn a little bit about me. I know time is a hot commodity these days, more so now than ever I think, which is why it’s my hope that you make it a priority to read my poems under some low light when you have some time on your hands and can really read and reread them closely and experience something shining in them. It’s my sincerest hope that they make you want to look at yourself, your world, and poetry itself a little differently, while they also encourage you to be more kind and gentle with yourself and others. I know when I read a poem, regardless of its subject, I expect to feel asked in and touched by its speaker. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn’t. That’s the way it goes, right? It would be great though if some of these poems brushed against you. As for when I write, it’s always my intention to lift and exteriorize more understandably complex emotions and states of consciousness I’m currently experiencing, and it's usually through an analysis and highly conscious reframing of my childhood that this happens, though I’ve been known to veer into writing surreal-like absurdism and allegorical prose poetry when the wind splits me that way. Where am I on the planet? This MFA in Writing fossil with an ever expanding Dad bod now lives and works in Concord, New Hampshire where I currently divide much of my time between writing, blogging, assisting middle school students who have special needs, and navigating the journey that is my own really unimpressive, but no less valuable dark night. From my own cave in the wilderness, I’d like to say thanks again for stopping by and spending some of your invaluable time. I invite you to please put your feet up and subscribe for a while, and if you’re feeling moved by one of my poems please share it with a dear friend, preferably someone who doesn’t like poetry. View all posts by Chris Russell