the flowers on their roots, the gold star in the sky
they need to know how the trees take color
how a grandmother's walk, her tales carry
the day forward, shield the bed monsters away
the monsters will not visit tonight, they are busy picking up
left socks in the field, savaging the greenery of the story
tracing the grandmother with the hunter
the children will talk the night away, but her hands wait on the book
for the next monster hunting after the joy,
she leaves her stick nearby, that's what it's for
mama once explained.
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