In Grandmother's Garden

I dug a hole in the garden my fifth summer, a pit to snare the tiger - cynical assassin padding on spongy leaf mold and peat, walking among the pepper plants and tomatoes in their green season, walking from my dream into reality. I spaded the sides straight to thwart the curve of his claws, while thick-leaved voices of the corn dangled in uneven songs behind my back. Shadows burned umber stripes across my legs. Grandmother watched from the galaxy next door, pink-starred bean blossoms clustered at her knees. She told me never to bury a thing as wild as fear. Memorize the contour of its tooth, she said, then let it go. The tiger leaped - what astonishment lit his eyes when I unbarred the dream to let him pass into the narrow daylight beyond the pit.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...