Making Me

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i'd always look up crossing the street


past the line of trees

taller than every building

within ten miles

across the street

covered in gravel

substituting our dreams

of living on the beach front

there is a colony

a guild of assassins

warriors using bones as armor


standing in a perfect line

always vigilant

scanning for fools

daring enough to encroach

upon their secret world

always ready

for someone to walk over the trees’ shadows


over the sweet plump arms

and pudgy little legs

of children

just the right size

to carry away in their talons

they’d circle

tens to the hundreds

in a tribal dance

to summon red skies

to match red kills

on the pine needle floor below


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