Christine Phillips Poet Narrative

The cross on the mound

Morning blaze like bullets through the streets and the temperature kept moving beneath my feet, I could hear the horses galloping on the track and the ferocious wind blowing through the street with love and mercy strapped to its heels.  He didn’t know where to go for his contract had end and everyone had to move out of the lion den, but he had a mission to fulfill before he departs with love and humility in his heart.

Take me to the street where we first meet and tell me what you see. Look at the trees that hang over the road and examine how deep they run into the ground; count the number of old men and youth you see roaming around. Observe the people that walk on the street and listen attentively to their heartbeat. Examine the avenue that runs into the town and the street that branches off into the ground.   You must know the difference between street and lane, and your life will never be the same.

He embarked on a journey to see his friend, but he was led to a different place instead, they took him on a winding path up a dirt road where ass and mule scamper about in the dark and children running about in the street with no shoes on their feet.

 He was convinced that he had lost his way, but he kept driving until he saw a cross sitting on top of a mound and they told him that was the last place his friend was seen, before he left the scene. He could not say a word for the road had ended and there was nowhere else to go, so they turned around and went back to the town.

  He could not laugh or cry for the shock was so great that, the only thing that he could do was to get on the plane and leave that place as tragedy bounce quietly all over the place. 

Take me to the street where we first meet and take me to the exact spot where we tie the knot and repeat the exact words that you say when you make the decision to go away. The cross on the mound is the only evidence that is on the ground that will explain what is happening in the town.

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