I hope to retire in the village
of heavy-headed children,
the off-balance boys and girls
who run with their faces pitched forward
along muddy paths in the brilliance
To retire, and live alone
except for the children,
with their gasping, their red foreheads
(wide and red with worrisome play),
running in circles nearby, in the lanes
or the town square
with the broken dryad fountain.
They snore like old men at night
and shatter the day with rules and cries.
Their heads are too much for their bones.
Published online November 22 2016.
Anna Moore is a writer from Vancouver Island. She grew up around rainforest and beaches and has a BFA in writing from the University of Victoria. She’s fascinated by the endless varieties of beauty found in nature and humans, and tries to capture some of that in her poetry.