Voices in the Dusk- Michael Erickson

Poplar8

The moon rose slowly from beyond the hills as I stood listening to your hissing leaves. Darkness hid your shifting depths as from within your limbs stirred a hundred eyes. A silent row of poplars stood, sentinels in the waiting dark. I felt their age like a knife’s razor edge brush across my skin. And beyond them the world stretch on into twilight.
“Listen to me,” I said as words cracked in my throat, “hear my secrets and cast your lots.”
Wood crackled and leaves sang as I opened my mouth and the shame flowed out. We stood there for eternity, as the moon continued to rise. Time no longer ticked away from us as each moment slowed. And then as one, they began to speak, their bark transformed by the moon into seemingly bone white teeth.
“The fates of death lie just beyond us,” rattled a thousand different voices, “come close and listen to your choices.”
I stepped beyond the barbed-wire fence and raised my hands while bowing my head. All around me their tongues did flicker, beyond in a field a horse whickered. Silence grew around my mind as I bowed my head a drew up a prayer.
“Protect me please, and do forgive my trespass.”
I threw my body to them. My flesh grew pale as I watched myself crumble. Beneath the poplar’s leaves, I felt my bones grow cold. My spirit made from bone white bark flowed into a thousand waiting arms.


Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.

 

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