Shantih Journal 3.1 - Page 13

Pantoum For Fear Sydney vance The night’s black road slunk away as we drove on— this is what I know about fear in our world: the beast yawns before it yanks your head inside of its mouth, of its warm and wet mouth. This is what I know about fear in our world: I want to rest my head upon the tree of you, but inside of its warm and wet mouth, Fear beckons the rabid tongue that spits out, you can’t. I want to rest my head upon the tree of you, but I do not know where your roots have unfurled— Fear beckons its rabid tongue—spits out, not here—and we drive past sordid skunks who never crossed this road. I do not know where your roots have unfurled, but when this car stops, the ground will show me— for now, we drive past sordid skunks and squirrels who skirt the road as that familiar beast opens his mouth again to speak. When this car stops, the ground will show me how far I must walk in order to cross this black road and that familiar beast will open his mouth again to speak, will say, don’t go— I will steal my head back and I will wonder alone, how far must we walk now before we run out of road? Two trees stand adjacent against the wind, roots entwined— ​I steal my head back and ​the black of this road slinks into light. 13