Landscape

there is a smallish boy in shorts

still on the edge

of a grassy patch watching

a crow eating a persimmon

he cannot move

he watches the burnt

caramel of oily bird feathers against

the backdrop of vibrant green pasture

the sharp peck, peck, pecking at

the vermillion flesh of the fruit against

verdancy and dirty patches of earth, the red

gullet of the greedy creature, the

gobbling, the swallowing, the sky, dirt-white

waiting for flight, vibrating

he cannot escape

the notion that the persimmon

is, in fact, his heart, inside his unripe chest

stops him short

the crow squarks

shatters the tableau in

to smallish, squishy pieces that

make him blink in sympathy

he cannot wake

the landscape is painted

in parts, in oils on the softest part

of his small soul

Barbara Turney Wieland is a 50+ visual artist and poet who also dabbles in short story and began writing at 49, unable to put it off any longer.

Her poems/stories have been published Narrow Road, Poetry Quarterly, The Door is a Jar, Isacoustic, Petrichor, Crannòg, Lackingdon’s Magazine et al. She is a member of the Geneva Writer’s Group.

BTW is British, Australian and Swiss, currently traveling in search of a new vocation after successfully bringing up 3 fabulous children.