The quiet grew like a green stem
from my left ear.
Static radio signals waved in
from across an ocean.
Tiny tin voices sent
murky messages.
Maybe it was a song,
incantation or spell. I couldn't tell.
I worried the tiny people needed me.
I was their giant, their Gulliver.
Yes, I was tied to stakes
on a high green hill.
I could no longer float from village to village
or keep pace with the story line.
The stem kept growing � thicker and greener.
I admit, I kind of loved the stakes,
the soft ribbons
of restraint, the cool grass at my back.
The tiny people waving
at me from their station in the tower.
Poem in Which I Become My Own Fairytale by Tina Schumann|Poetry Reed Diffuser
$20.00Price
