Peter Newton

@DragonGirl802

Chilled at the end of summer, she’s a city girl coated in tattoos and never enough clothes. No longer the innocent child, quick to laugh when I knew her best. Over one shoulder and down onto her arm, flower tendrils reach toward black polished nails. A serpent intertwines almost camouflaged. She is half-hugging herself when she faces the meadow as if holding it all together.

“Things are good. All good,” she says like a command. “I just wanted to see if this place still existed,” she says. “It’s here,” I say. “We’re here.”

The meadow’s been freshly mowed. Rows and rows of “homeless little critters,” she refers to them now. “Nowhere to hide. Open to attack.” This is what the city does. Shields up. On guard. I am remembering the child she was, saying nothing but wanting to ask: Where are all the woodland faeries? Your favorite friends of the forest?

And I spot her little salamander, there behind an ankle. “That’s cute,” I say.

“They’re the first to go when the pollution gets too bad. Amphibians. Whattaya gonna do. I mean, look at them. They’re all skin,” she adds.

The birds and butterflies you’ve covered yourself in, I think.

She looks at me as if overhearing my thoughts and walks across the damp grass to stroll the long corridors of cut field. The quiet mountains beyond. The still blue sky.

My thoughts chase after her:

You are so full of wings and flowers and wonderful things. Just look at you. 

And I say instead, “Wait up. It’s dangerous out here alone.”

dragonfly
precisely 
    itself

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About the Author

Peter Newton is the author of several books in the Japanese short form traditions of haiku, haibun, and tan renga. His newest book of haiku is Glide Path (Red Moon Press, 2022).