Facing an Armed Intruder

Photo by Damir Spanic on Unsplash

A baseball bat breaking the window at 3 am sounds like a plane crash.

I race upstairs from my basement bedroom and come face-to-face with a man. Glass shattered on the floor. His muscles bulge with the baseball bat raised to his broad shoulders. Soundless, we stare, four feet apart. If he swings at my head I will die. We are both stopped in time, in the primal intimacy of his eyes hard on mine. Then, nothing. I have no memories of what happened next.

I’m outside, screaming, without remembering…

A poem

Photo by GraceHues Photography on Unsplash

I end this story before it begins.

But I can tell you it’s about a nature walk–
my solo hike across the Canadian Shield
far down roads where nobody knows me.

I come across a man
on the side of a trail
looking at maples.

Dancing leaves
of amber and crimson
like a cauldron of magic.

He shows me a sapling
half-broken by the wind.

I wonder out loud
about its past and future.
Will it still grow into a tree?

He tells me none of that matters.
What matters is the cool touch
of wind through its leaves

Lisa Alletson

Poet. Lake lover.

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