text mode CrossConnect previous next

Issue Contents
E-mail Us
   g e n e a l o g y

--- W E S   M U L L E N

The winds are nice up here,
under such an open sky as this one.
I recline here with my brothers 
on round, new leaves and springy wood.

Just below me I can see my parents loafing in the green shadows as they admire the foliage. Grandma has one foot in a hole she has carved

in her fat, browning limb, and she is grumpy at all the noise coming from Uncle Charlie The Drunk, who is hauling away at something

with a chainsaw. We all glance downward from time to time, down to where the thick trunks disappear into the darkness, but we are not

afraid. Here in this tree it is all relative, we are all strapped to the lattice together. Even you, reader; holler up and you will find me.

© crossconnect, inc 1995-2004 |
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |