Real

 

I had no imaginary friends
Had large brown toads
Crayfish in the creek
Feet sinking in clay soil
Its sucking sounds
I loved what was real
The black snake that brushed
My skin as it fell
Rang in me a red alarm
You should know by now
I love the fear that fills my body
Would call it my friend
The slick cliffs my friend
Black widows in the woodpile
Rats I chased through culverts
The high pipe for sewage
Where I practiced balance
Fell on my back
In the briared ravine
I crossed the pipe again and again
Tiptoed through the air
I’m grown and gone
From that house in the woods
But dear danger
I know you’re there

 

Lauren Moseley Biography

May-June 2016 Issue, BOAAT