Chased

In the backward streets

You’ve got a whole cedar forest to yourself

but run at the sound

of your father coming toward you

And yet you stop your bounding run

pick up two golden apples

little robin eggshells

they must have had a father

They crumble in your hand as you run

Run!

Around the corner and over roots

Now the path is like a winding staircase

spiraling down

get away from me

get away

The sound of laughter engulfs me

It’s my own

This is hell I said

and kept running

Until someone woke me up