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A weed-rimmed path I know twists ‘round bends
that separate yesterday from tomorrow
with small white pebbles and bits of glass.
They glitter after dusk like wolf-spider eyes
and when the time is just right, pounce forward
so ramblers fall back into old memories
of undiscovered futures to learn how

here and now mutates at the whim of gods

I avoid the trail. I’ve been down it before
colors more real than scarlet feathers on parrot
wings that flap, loud and clumsy. Breezes arise
from the effort and still the bird sits, clipped. Stuck.
Rocks and broken beer bottles mark my other times,

not diamond strewn beaches or sandy Palm Islands

that float above a shifting azure horizon.
But please feel free to explore for yourself.


Yvette Managan is a writer who works by day maintaining the chemical integrity of the Banana River. At night, she acts as intermediary between the horse and hound-dog. She reads to remember, writes to forget and re-enacts the American War Between the States to teach that war is never healthy. She acts as fiction editor for The Linnet’s Wing and her works have recently been seen in Every Day Fiction, Open Magazine, Mason’s Road, Flashshot, Sporkpress, Eclecticflash, Killer Works, All Things Girl, Literal Translations, Polluto 6, Mirror Magazine, and Sinister Tales.

© 2011, Yvette Managan

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