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History Lesson

After the rain fell
into the graveyard,
I heard the hidden wings of an owl
in the lonely, country grove.

Fallen leaves—
wet, brown, & curled—
covered the hallowed ground
and the tombstones nearby.

Jittery shadows blew—
moving darkly—
in the cooling evening breeze, beneath
the indelible slit:  October moon.

The once-trapped raindrops
began descending from moving branches
in silver-bullet cascades,
refurbishing foot-shaped puddles—

carelessly left by the living—
next to a freshly opened grave.
Under the heavy brush and behind
a picket fence, the loosened water

pounded a black, ’30s sedan
in a setting fertile for resplendent legend—
like the one concerning Bonnie & Clyde—
complete with an accent of goldenrod, of rust.

 

first published in Spillway Review

 

 

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