The Stranger

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #306

Words:  village, hole, expect, quake, stranger, edges, own, wave, stone, swallow, tribe, spit

Strangers were not expected
in the village. Tribal elders
owned land here. They feared
outsiders, midnight riders,
outbreaks of disease. Community
gathered in leader’s stone hut
to discuss gaping hole
in center of village, where
tobacco-spitting outlaws
had pillaged their land.
After ever last varmint
had gone, a quake shook
the earth swallowing gardens
of vegetables and plants,
leaving a ragged edge
of black ash.

Now a man rides
 up to village gate,
dressed in black frock coat,
holding books with gold
lettering on grainy covers.
“I have come to help you
find the light,” he said.
The tribal leader laughed.
“We found the light years
before you were born.
We need no other.”

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
This entry was posted in Purple's Home and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.