Uncle Historyon the Mountain

On the mountainside
There’s a troll
There’s a hut
This is how stories begin
He thinks
Aside from longevity
Uncle history
Isn’t well read
But he’s onto something
You won’t become a poet of summer
Until you’ve sharpened
The knife of loss
He likes this
Writes it down
The sun rises above dead trees
The animal-gods of creation have gone

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto