An Arrow Beyond the Target


It was morning, the moon and the sun in the same cross-eyed sky. The daughter of
the night was crying with her rabbit in the hay. I felt the dew between my toes. Bees were
already drinking the fallen apples. My own daughter swallowed a seed and later said she
watched for days, but it didn’t come out. I don’t know the name of the song or where it’s
coming from, but a happy song o’erplayed grows sad. It’s not the darkness but the
sunlight that erases us.
A lonely neighbor looked tired and beaten, empurpled by the clumsiness of her
own angry life. Her headache turned seventy this year.
That was in a time of rotting fenceposts and letters to the editor and raisins. That
was in the brain of a follower, whose shoes contained a single pebble, which wore the
shoes in his place and let him visit while he was walking to the store or while he was
Everyone knows it’s possible to get there, but nobody gets there.
You’re inside a body that belongs to someone you don’t know. You used to be you
when you didn’t know it and now that you know it, you’re not you anymore. It’s
someone trying to save you from you.
This time I tried not to talk.
I’m not so sad as I thought, I thought. I’ve got oysters. I’ve got a pan to cook them
in. I noticed the clouds playing in the mud again. I noticed pleasure. I tied my shoelaces
to the adventure. I noticed huckleberries. I noticed going on.
I started the fire again. I caused it.
I noticed I was singing. I tried not to do it too many times.
I did it too many times.

Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.