The Village of Sliding Time

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one skeletal husbandstood by the corn fieldas long as one summerwhile a wife burned her fataway, never moving from her bedafraid of the doctorspeaking fasther own tongue thickeningher sons woollenand silent by the doorcoming to take her handall their eyes fillingexcept one ragedagainst his father who neverbought the dresseshis mother once wantedbut no morepast the worrythe heart softeningagainst that manbecause she knewhe would follow herone day in the potato patchpassing down into the blackworked and reworked soilto taste the mineral that he wassharp, iron, foreigntiny crystal stones on his teethlittle white micas he hadcombined with shit from the animalsand built rows ofraspberry canes, fencesbuildings so tallthey needed rods even higherto pull lightningdown around the wallsand into the blackened groundmuch like the kindhis sons picked him up fromand then laid him back intobesides his wifeand where his sons tookfamilies to trim and plantdisturb the fat snakessliding into spacesat the edge of the gravenearest their motherwhere the headstonemost needed repairand where they were beginningnot to believe the Biblicalphrases and consolationschipped in granite.Àæ

© Zieroth David Dale