by Susan Tepper
Under dense spruce trees, during a snowfall, I can feel your footprints marking the forest ground. They are long buried. Yet still I know them to be climbing my wrist to shoulder, hanging soft and loose. A silk gown about to slide off. Dropping to the floor. Writhing. It gets so hungry here. While you stay busy polishing, spitting; adjusting your trousers. Tidying weaponry. Shouting orders to unseen servants who fled when the food supply dimmed. One bag of grain. Infested. Don’t think I blame you. I blame the moon. The sodden treetops. I blame the gypsy with the one crossed eye who set me wrong on the road. I blame this land for its harsh curve northward. The river running bleak with so few fish. All the things I expected, dear Petrov, have become the trouble here now.
Susan Tepper is the author of four published books of fiction and a chapbook of poetry. Her current title The Merrill Diaries (Pure Slush Books) is a Novel in Stories. Tepper is writing a sequel to this novel that will be released in early 2016.
August 12, 2015
Photo by: Gessy Alvarez