Christopher Strople
Issue No. 19 • Spring 2018
Fantasy Island
Obscurity reigns within the confines of this page
Leading in hand her cousin, Random. They
Skip and pause, pause and skip
Leaping hurdles of immense libraries
And immense thought.
Their steps bring
Rainbows and fairy tales
Lands of dragons and the occasional pink balloon.
Tales of a grand structure; a building of steel
And coconut. Using these reinforced coconuts
We will ascend to the heavens, to dance
As children dance, without reluctance.
Jumping rope, singing, chanting:
With a knick-knack-patty-wack
Give a dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.
Without introduction Obscurity and Random are
Unwelcome (except to children who always
Have a smile for their games), even chastised,
Rebuked by the shriveled shrivels
Of a furrowed brow. Crickets chirp; reminding
Those forgetful of their absence, playing their
Violins, a symphony to their own penury: Gracious
And refined. Buckets of color
Are gathered, as are stones, trees, water, twigs, figs,
Leaves, fruit, sand, dirt, boulders, gold, pearls,
Silver, women, men, rope, twine, pillows, blankets,
Crayons and paints, brushes, candy, and even
Crickets; and with an unshakably calm and
Excited flourish, thrown into the air with
Surprising glee. (This, of course, being the recipe
For smiles and the de-furrowing of brows.)
Horizontal and vertical jags of amethyst
Sheen circulate in pamphlet manner.
This is utopia,
The idea born from the chaste mother perfection.
It is not the Christ from Bethlehem, born of Mary and Joseph.
It is unnamed, it is the son of Mary’s father, and
It is here where he calls home.
His home of gingerbread and glass, his breakfast of
Green eggs and ham frequently dined upon in
Strawberry fields, forever enchanted in this
Make believe of make beliefs.
Shake your hips, twist your feet, clap your hands
The dance dear Children
Is about to begin.
Birds fly from the tree top, with squirrels below
Bushy-bushying their tails, turtles craning
Their necks, and hand in hand
You and I
Dosey-doe
One more time.
Look boss
The plane, the plane.
