By: Kate O’Neil
The blue sky melts off into the short grasses,
rustling green with the wind; that ocelot steps past quietly.
The trees almost smell like cordite.
I woke up in a tree. I threw this postcard down to a mailman
traveling by. The singing green boughs hmmed around me,
pensive and reserved. They sway as they think.
I realized my purpose, I’m waiting for you. I’ll get a bead
eventually, and take my shot. Just like that fateful
moment, bronzed and octaved.
You can barely see the colors of the world below; just chalky
grey or a painter’s palette tipped on its side. A blur.
I aucupate here, and you approach. You can go any speed
you like; I’ve got folly.
Not everyone has forgotten what we did
during that war.
I will hunt you down.