BROWSE Columns
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Upon my naked knee
rests a curious little creature
pastel green
unnumbered legs
eyes of a thousand portals
no bigger than my thumbnail
and he is dancing
dancing smooth
dancing slow
dancing tango?
shimmying side to side.
I am staring at [him]
(I assume, from his mating ritual)
and he stares back
though I know not from
which dozen of his soul-windows
but a stare just the same
on the banks of the river
my river, really
under an oak tree
my oak tree, really
for everything is all of ours.
He stops cold
though the day is hot
and prepares to jump
to where? I could not say
for who can know such things
in the stillness of the Garden
or the quiet drowning
in a reflecting pool
that embraces for impact
so as not to disturb
the great big bug that I am.
Luke Shuffield is an economic development consultant by day and amateur writer by night. He has long called Austin home and refuses to relocate anywhere cold. A graduate of Duke University, he now scribbles fiction and poetry to scratch the overwhelming creative itch that his corporate job, sadly, cannot. Prior to this submission, he had two minor publications to his name: a poem in Lucky Jefferson and an academic article in a highly selective Political Science journal.
