Still Life with Boy and Trees
by Travis Ian Smith

    Now the wavering sleep of a young boy beside a green river.
    White sun-drenched field with tall poplars. Water lilies
    like pools of leaves floating on the surface reflecting
    yellow light. On a rock he sleeps, curled, on his side,
    like a Z. His bronzed right arm flung over his head
    (his small mouth barely open), legs bent at the knees
    and kicked out behind him. The delicate wind stirring
    the brown hair from his eyes is like a wife's
    hand, years later, lifting him from another sleep.
    And the long, plaintive musical notes from the trees
    descending into his body. In his dream
    he sees a wren spiraling among leaves, then
    he is holding an endless piece of blue string.
    He drifts back and forth, in and out of sleep.
    Above him, a blue towel hung inside a tree,
    a slanted magical light striking the dark leaves.

Copyright 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.