Fat with Promises (a Memory of Alaska)
She is fat with promises,
with silver lies and
with fictions in her eye.
The mountains cascade
in slippery slime
reflections on her side.
She slides onto the gravel
where we’ll fillet her
and toss the carcass into the flow.
Throwing orange eggs
into the pool at our feet
we watch a storm of Dollys
appear and gorge on her dreams
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The 7th line here says a lot: the “slippery promise” scraping into the reality of the knife and the “storm of Dollys.” Thanks!
Walt – thanks for the comment. You probably know the feeling that when you begin to write something you’re never sure exactly what will happen. That was certainly the case with this. Ideas that you’re not even aware of bubble to the surface. It’s always so wonderful to hear from a thoughtful reader that has found something too. Thanks for digging in and sharing your thoughts!