At night, novels stroll on gravel
pathways; whispers and powdered
cheeks lifting with each white
breath. Their confessions are fur-lined,
necessary, worn to the thread.
Eugene tears a letter into wishes that trail
at his feet, Pushkin follows aiming
his quill. Anna Karenina sits with her daughter,
picking strands in a cats-cradle; Tolstoy nibbles
a banana and tries to ignore their laughter.
Raskolnikov badgers his shoe laces
thinking of the coffee house where
Dostoyevsky waits, texting rhapsodies to his bookie.
In the morning, their mute footsteps
are raked over by sturdy women. Nearby,
oblivious children parse the ribs of fallen
leaves, collecting handfuls to flutter and crackle
at the hush between each rasping scrape.
- Rico Craig 2014
Rico is a writer and creative writing teacher, currently sharing his time between poetry, prose and working on pantomime scripts with school students. Recent work has been published at Cordite and Doctor T.J Eckleburg Review, and is forthcoming in Meanjin. For links to publications please visit: http://ricoandhisroboteye.wordpress.com