Dear Mom,

parvosunda:

Sing to me about the moths
Tell me the tale of the tallest tree
and the moon drops
that cataract into the oceans
Hum the one about the birds wrapping up the worms
inside warm spider webs for morning,
dousing them with dew beads like ketchup,
unhinging their jaws
and swallowing them
entirely

You used to tell me stories
of the clubhouse in the clouds,
where endless ice cream was your worst worry
and cavities were the cubby holes used to keep our favorite toys a secret
Don’t you remember asking me what I hid in mine?

Sing to me about the mountains
Tell me the tale of the timid tiger
and the rainbows
that are really arches of marbles arranged by giants out of boredom
Hum the one about the peacocks knitting their fragile feathers
into sweaters for the salmon to buy in December,
lacing them with threads of sycamore sap
to cull them every winter
marking them for the bears to find come Spring

You used to tell me stories
of the dandelion choir
whose hymns echo through every valley pass
and only the quietest travellers could hear their gentle song
Don’t you remember asking me what I heard?