First he thought it was the stars, that creaking groan and grind of tired years but with time the tension grew and he realized the problem lay not overhead but underfoot (as problems often do). Some days the gripping stuckness beneath his feet felt tighter and other days it felt looser like someone else’s shoes depending on where he walked and what he ate for breakfast. Out on the plains where the stars rattled so faintly as to be almost inaudible, he located the source of this tension, unzipped the blackland earth and studied the dull gears that moved the gears that made the world go round. He turned a wrench against the machine—so surprisingly simple to adjust, this mechanical universe—and retuned the planet’s motion relative to the earthly key of his own aspirations. That’s the way he explained his good fortune years later as he leaned back in the worn leather chair of his old age, smiling in the knowledge that he was now very close to achieving his lifelong goal of living happily ever after.
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James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
This was truly a pleasure to read…
Love this.
= ) Wouldn’t that be nice?
Succinctly sweet and satisfying. A fine mini read!
Thanks, everyone. I appreciate your comments.
Hes a brave man, great read !
Thanks, Bill.
[…] is another poem based on the image in The Mag #109. I did another one from this same photo last […]