One day Little-girl-she went out to
walk with her mother. For some reason
they walked right down the middle of the street;
Now don’t you go too far ahead! warned Mommy-she
On ahead went Little-girl-she,
sometimes looking back, making sure that Mommy-she
was still there (“too far” nagging,)
and Mommy-she was still there every
time, until one time, one time she was not: Little-Girl-She
knew, then and there, that she had gone too far,
too far …
but when she got back to the spot,
nothing was there, nothing but a manhole
staring right back up at her, a manhole with
no lid; a manhole with nothing but pipe ends staring
up at her – little holes; pipe ends filled the mouths
of the manholes: ugly little mouths, like a thousand
manholes gaping …
Little-girl-she stood still and bent,
and then she ran round and round,
and then she zigzagged every way
from manhole to manhole, from here to there,
from what to where,
connecting the manholes … connecting the dots
and when she had connected all the dots
all the manholes …
there stood a gigantic zigzaggedy Mommy-she
and Little-girl-she screamed, screamed at Mommy-she
Why did you do leave me?
Then she fell into her Mommy-she’s arms.
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Writer: Walt Fellman
No More Songs Today
currents run below
carrying to me, as water, a bubble
playing at my mind,
lifting a bobbing, near-conscious
dream-thought: a creature
emerging at line’s end:
“I see your Face before me …”
at once risen,
soon to submerge.
“What Lonely Hours
the Evening Shadows Bring …”
and I am seized, rocked
awake by my own surging deep:
on the dark side, where
Shadows sing —
and hours endure.
The torch I carry,
the songs that lurk,
and act on cue
to plug it with a cork, a bottle
bobbing like a buoy, stopping-up
the strains within —
And as I do I say
No more Voices!
No more songs today!