Paradise
Andy Stallings
Of course, no one ever says,
“you can’t leave the house
and walk to the toy store
without us when you wake in
the morning and your
parents are still asleep.” My
father was famous for such
mishaps, as when he torched
his mustache blowing out a
burning marshmallow, and
twice dumped an extendable
grill full of hot dogs into the
campfire. There are walks I’d
take and walks I wouldn’t,
with or without you, not
parallel in time. The silence
ascending afternoon in a
large suburban house, no
need to leave the neighbor-
hood, only the desire
to leave. The fish were guilty
of nothing, the garden low
and silent beside the rocks.
Exposed bone, sharpened
and used for a tool. This isn’t
intended as nightmare.
Though there is no getting,
from where we’re going,
here.