THE LAST TALE

The Last Tale, by Jennifer Crow

 

The last tale you told

ended in a forest: dark, foreboding,

full of shadows and hungry beasts.

The scent of pine, the crunch

of dead oak leaves beneath your feet,

the echo of your breath

hissing in time with the wind

in the treetops.

Your weary limbs ached, tears

dampened your cheeks

as the past faded to the vanishing point

behind you. Witches and wolves

and cloaks of flayed skin,

princes and ghosts and cut-glass bottles

of poison: you hid it all

in a hollow log, among squirrel nests

and toadstools. And you ran.

But the stories kept pace, nightmares

racing a sliver of moon

glimpsed through bare branches.

No matter where you left them,

words followed, and tempted

you like the whispers of a lover,

and inevitably

you succumb.

Listen, you tell us, where we gather

beside the hearth and lean closer

so we don’t miss a single soft word.

Listen, you tell us, and we wait

for the rest to spill from your lips,

and for a moment the whole room

is still, tasting of oak-wood smoke

and the memory of supper.

A smile curves your mouth

As you take in your captives.

The first tale you tell

begins in a forest.

 

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Shy and nocturnal, Jennifer Crow has rarely been photographed in the wild, but it’s rumored that she lives near a waterfall in western New York. You can find her poetry on several websites and in various print magazines including Asimov’s Science Fiction, Uncanny Magazine, and The Future Fire. She’s always happy to connect with readers on her Facebook author page or on twitter @writerjencrow.