The Watchwoman

I hope to retire in the village

of heavy-headed children,

the off-balance boys and girls 

who run with their faces pitched forward

along muddy paths in the brilliance

after rain. 

To retire, and live alone 

except for the children, 

with their gasping, their red foreheads 

(wide and red with worrisome play),

running in circles nearby, in the lanes

or the town square

with the broken dryad fountain.

They snore like old men at night

and shatter the day with rules and cries.

Their heads are too much for their bones.

Anna Moore is a writer from Vancouver Island. She grew up around rainforest and beaches and has a BFA in writing from the University of Victoria. She’s fascinated by the endless varieties of beauty found in nature and humans, and tries to capture some of that in her poetry.