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ISSN: 1941-4137 |
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Volume Six Issue Two |
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Mystery Spot Hooked fingers mark the spot, spin the sepulcher and cross, signal stolen and savage hopes. In Sunday school, I etched rows of X's in a tiny notebook, beneath my little league stats. Each ink hatch I crossed not even knowing my desire, bulges hidden in winter jackets. In the decapitated woods we foraged for morels, those stunted brown dwarves, and the famed Mystery Spot, a glade of unplundered wonder, among signs riddled with buckshot. There is danger in unearthing the thing that is not the thing, the underside of rocks slimy with unerring crawlers, women kissing me in a jagged line, inhaling more frog than man. A quester is not gentle. I plundered far and wide, and buried the very thing inside. |
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